
M 



I 




Class. 
Book. 



-E5_^53S. 



CopyrightN^ 






COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 



AT THE SIGN OF THE 
GINGER JAR 



AT THE SIGN OF THE 
GINGER JAR 



SOME VERSES 
GAY AND GRAVE 



BY / 

RAY CLARKE ROSE 




CHICAGO 

A. C. McCLURG & CO. 

1901 



> 1 > > 



THE l.iBHARY OF 

Two Cur'Ibtf RtOKIVCD 

OCT. 12 1901 

OOPVHIOMT SNTHY 

CLASS ^XXa No. 

COPY a 



,70 1 



Copyright 

A. C. McCLURG & CO. 

1901 



TO 

VICTOR F. LAWSON 

THIS HOOK 
IS GRATEFULLY INSCRliJKD 



CONTENTS 



Prologue 



PAGE 

II 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND REFLECTION 



Rondel . 

Patience 

Compensation . 

May Song 

Aftermath 

Serenade 

A Presentation 

Parting Song 

Homing Song . 

The Living Voice 

Memory . 

Sweet Clover 

Spring Song 

For the Sake of the Song 

The Tremolo . 

Nightingale's Serenade 

A Outrange 

She Came to Me 

Horace to Chloe 

Day Dreams 

The Place of Joy 

Lite Pendente 

My Poor Neighbor . 

Follies of the Wise 

A Child is Born 

An Old Lady 

Religion . 

Walt Whitman . 

Sacrifice 

NOCTURN 

True Love's Reward 

The Day's End . 

Faith 

Over the Way 

The Last Hope 

Jure Divino 



13 
14 
15 
16 
17 
18 

19 
20 
22 
24 

26 
28 
29 
30 
31 
32 
34 

3| 
36 

3? 
38 

39 
41 
42 
43 
44 

46 

48 

49 

50 
51 
53 
54 



VERSES PLAYFUL AND HUMOROUS 



Josephine 

Dolly in the Rain . 

My Lady of Easter 

Triolet . 

An "Old Maid" 

The Best Name 

With Daisy in the Rain 

Sour Grapes 

Rondel 

His Modest Wish 

Josephine's Hat . 

Triolets Under the Tree 

My Lady of Dawn 

Catalogued 

The Price of Absence . 

A Valentine . 

Art Institute Memories 

From Season to Season 

The Circus . 

Procrastination 

Fact Versus Fancy 

A Bachelor's Valentine 

The Maid Suburban 

In the Storm . 

We Met by Chance 

Rainy-Day Notes 

Flattery 

Triolets of Discretion 

When' Pay Day Comes . 

The Ring and the Heart 

A Place of Refuge 

Years After . 

Without Avail 

Piqued 

Would Be More Than Kin 

May and June . 

Chloe's Valentine 

Rondel— The Wood-Thrus 

Miss Diplomacy . 

A Valentine . 

Absence 

The Wedding-Time . 

A Christmas Wish 

My Valentine . 

At Graduation 

On the Street 

Across the Way . 

The Promenade 

If I Propose 

Kyrielle 

Her Letter 

Lays that Please 

Horace to Lydia 

A Lost Talisman 

Horace to Leuconoe 



page 

'i 

6i 

64 

65 
66 

69 
70 
71 
73 
74 



77 
78 

II 
81 
82 

8S 
86 

^7 
88 

89 
90 
91 
93 
94 
95 
96 
97 
99 
100 

lOI 

102 

103 
104 
105 
106 
107 
108 
109 
no 
III 

112 

"3 

114 



The Eclipse 

Madrigal 

At the Gate . . . 

Horace to Lydia 

Horace to Chloe 

Horace to Lydia . 

A Wail .... 

At the Concert . 

Same Old Sonnet 

Villanelle 

A Game of Tennis . 

Night Thoughts . 

Secrets .... 

St. Patrick's Day Warning 

My Lady 

An Autumn Carol 

The Dance 

Alone with Jane . 

Simple English 



page 
lis 
xi6 

\\l 
119 
121 
122 

123 
124 
125 
126 
127 
128 
129 
130 
131 
132 
133 
134 



BALLADES AND RONDEAUS 



Ballade of the Mediocre ' 

Ballade of the Comic Muse 

Ballade of Old Navies 

A Valentine Ballade 

Harvest Apples . 

On Sunday Morn 

An Appeal . 

Come Kiss Me, Dear 

Behind the Scenes 

Be Wise in Time 

With Rod and Reel 

When One is Old 

In After Years . 

O Rose of June 

A Duplicate Game 

The Social Swim 

To You 1 Turn . 

In Lenten Garb 

When One Is Young 

The Rush and Whirl 

To Make One Song 

The Backward Look 

A Good Cigar 



135 
137 
139 
141 
143 

146 

148 
149 
150 

151 
152 

153 
154 

156 

158 

160 
161 
162 



SONNETS 



Sleep . 

At Eighty Years 

A Trust I Keep 

Iack Frost 

Labor 



164 
165 
166 
167 



To THE First Robin 

Calliope 

Erato 

Terpsichore 

Euterpe . 

Thalia 

Clio 

Broken Bonds 

The Mask of Mirth 

Woodland June . 

October . 



page 

i68 
169 
170 
171 
172 
173 
174 

176 
177 
178 



NATURE 



Midsummer Days 

Konuel .... 

Song of the Thistledrift 

The Lost Butterfly 

When the Cows Comb Home 

Chant of the Spring Rain 

In the Fading Year 

At Sunset 

Gay Spring Returns 

Spring Comes A-Calling . 

The Spring Fever 



182 

185 
187 
188 
190 
192 

193 
194 



BITS OF CHILDHOOD 



Sleep Song 

Winter Butterflies 

Fairy Castles 

Sleep Song of Motherhood 

The First Year 

Star Tr a.cks 

The Toy Soldier's Valentine 

When Mary Sings 

The Nursery Sage . 

Going Away 

Army Diet 

A New Woman 



196 
196 
197 
198 

199 

200 
202 
203 

205 
206 
207 



10 



Dear stranger, step Inside my shop; 

I have some curiosities 
To interest you if you stop — 

Rare antiques and monstrosities; 
Round masks with features humorous, 

A few with looks tyrannical; 
New toys, and nicknacks numerous. 

And some of them mechanical. 

Of posies, too, 1 have a few. 

Still fragrant of the country side; 
Also some laces — old and new — 

And woven patterns long and wide; 
Some girlish portraits that fnay chance 

To glance at you demurely; 
Some relics of old-time romance. 

All packed away securely. 

Of course I have sweetmeats to sell; 

My ginger dainties are unique. 
And all my goods are fresh and smell 

Of savory flavors far to seek. 
If chance you wish to patronize 

My shop, here'' s welcome to you; 
But if you should my wares despise. 

Pass on — / ' // never rue you! 
II 



POEMS OF SENTIMENT AND 
REFLECTION 



Love is a wanderer, wayward seeming. 

Like a bee that roams o'er the flowered plain; 
But aye with an eagerness almost pain 

He flies to his nest for rest and dreaming. 

On fancy's zephyrs, his gold hair streaming 
Like sunlight sifted through rifts of rain. 

Love is a wanderer, wayward seeming; 
But ever he comes to his own again! 

Cometh he, then, with his sweet eyes gleaming 
With a passionate joy he would not restrain; 
With increased treasure he comes amain. 

Love is a wanderer, wayward seeming. 

Like a bee that roams o'er the flowered plain. 



13 



at tt)e Sbm of tibf dMnqtx ^slv 



patience 



I put her letter by, because. 

With dimming eyes, I needs must pause 

To fashion somewhat of her smile 
From memory, a little while; 

To feel again the gentle touch 
That made me wonder overmuch 

If such a soft caress of love 

Were not for ransomed ones above. 

Instead of for my earthly bliss — 
This handclasp sweeter than a kiss. 

I put her letter by a bit 

To muse and marvel over it. 

As something rare beyond the ken 
Of common thought and mortal men; 

As something that the tender years 
Have traced with not ungrateful tears. 

14 



Stenti'ment anti l^efiwtion 

A sweet good-by, it is, to say- 
She '11 meet me "later in the day." 

And still I wait! And still I wait! 
The years have gone — the day is late I • 

A shrine of myrtle for her dust — 
A letter yellowed with the rust 

Of tears — a prayer to understand 
Her signal from the Peaceful Land. 

I put her letter by! — I know 
Its promise will be kept, and, so. 

Through misty eyes my soul shall smile 
And wait in patience yet awhile. 



€omj)en$?atton 



In the night of doubt and error 
Life assumes a shape of terror. 

Beside which death seems joy indeed; 
But in the dawn of truth and faith 
Despair becomes a helpless wraith — 

A cloud that shades us in our need. 

15 



at tf)e Sbm of t|)e (SJiitflcc gar 



iSl^ap ^ong 



The ardent woodbird seeks his mate 
And tells his hopes in trembling song; 

Dear love, my heart, no less elate. 
Sings of you all day long! 

The woodbird shapes his fragile nest 
Among the branches, leafless yet. 
Nor fears the maple will forget 

To shelter well its guest. 

I have no mansion grand for you; 

My hands must rear the home we share; 
With life so young, our nest so new. 

And love to make it fair. 
May we not trust that time will bring 

The richer shelter — that the days 

Will ever higher hopes upraise. 
And still our hearts may sing? 

The woodbird' s faith is firm and high; 

Joy wingeth ever by his side; 
Sweetheart, with your dear presence nigh, 

I fear not storm or tide. 
i6 



Sentiment antr i^cflecti'on 

The summer cometh to eclipse 

With bloom and green the striving soil; 

Your smile shall garnish all my toil. 
And heaven kiss my lips! 



3llftermatf) 



We laughed and loved as the summer went. 

And were content; 

We sighed when love and the year grew cold. 

That year of old. 

'Twixt the laugh and the sigh was a paradise 

Aglow with the light of your radiant eyes — 

A place of cloudless dreams and skies. 

Till we were wise! 

Still summer comes with its balminess. 

But my heart brims over with vague distress; 

I miss the summer past and, yes. 

Your old caress. 

Dear love of old, is your heart as true 

As mine to you? 

Is to-day the past's equivalent — 

Are you content? 



17 



at tf^t Sififn of tt)f ©iitflcr fat 



^erenatie 



From mountain heights fair Echo calls 

And bids the world rejoice; 
Thus on my thought's high places falls 

The echo of your voice. 

In cavern deeps the crystal light 
Of day seems strangely fair; 

Your love illumines my heart's sad night. 
As if God placed it there. 

The south wind comes with its caress. 

And joy springs into bloom; 
Your kisses melt my cold distress 

And rose-tint all its gloom. 

The myriad stars of night's vast blue 

Are spotless and divine; 
Each represents a gift that you 

Possess, sweetheart of mine. 

I have no kingly realm — no gold — 

No hosts at my command; 
Yet all the world is mine to hold. 

When I but hold your hand. 
i8 



Sentiment antr i^eflection 

A minstrel's frail, discordant notes 

Are all my lips can give; 
My love would fill a thousand throats 

With song that aye should live. 



% ^tt^mtatim 



Here 's a clove carnation, dear. 
Brightest blossom of the year; 
Short of stalk, but blooming well 
In my overcoat lapel. 
Let me put it in your hair. 
Like a kiss imprinted there — 
Like a blushing, shy caress. 
Simply that — and nothing less ! 

'T is of color hard to tell; 
Say a scarlet-cardinal. 
Flaming with the fragrant fire 
Of a devotee's desire. 
Take it, lady, as a seal 
Of the interest I feel — 
Summer's token, and the same 
Of my heart's consuming flame ! 



19 



at tijf SSm of tf)e dMnqtx fat 



parting J)ong 



The moon elves dance upon the lake; 

The laughing wave crests lilt in play; 
A balmy zephyr blows to take 

My love away! 
My love, who sails across the tide 

In search of gold and gear for me — 
My love, and all my world beside — 
Across the sea! 

The night is spangled bright with dust 

Of worldshine in a silver shower. 
O gleaming stars, I put my trust 

In you this hour! 
By you my true love steers his bark; 

By you he pledged his troth to me. 
Oh, guide him truly to his mark 
Across the sea. 

A wild bird flickers through the night 

With intermittent mournful cry. 
And my sad spirit mocks its flight 
With many a sigh. 
20 



sentiment anti i^cflection 

Perhaps the wild bird is my heart. 

For, oh! I know 'tis gone from me — 
'Tis gone to take my true love's part 
Across the sea. 

Dear zephyr, blow with tenderness. 

And kiss my dear love's bonny browj 
Dear stars, give him the long caress 

I waft you now. 
O nights, be brief, and brief the days 
That keep my love away from me. 
And heart, be near him while he strays 
Across the sea! 

Come back, my love, my sailor lad. 

For gold and gear are worthless dust. 
My long, long solitude is sad - 

Come back you must. 
Come back, sweetheart, on lightning wings. 

Though bringing but a kiss for me. 
Your smile is more than wealth of kings 
Across the sea! 



21 



at tf)t BiQri of tf)e QMmn far 



looming ^ong 



The waves come racing to my boat 

With messages from you, my love. 
And all their cadences denote 
You 're true, my love. 
Your soldier lad is sailing back 

To you and to his home again. 
No more to lead a fierce attack. 
Or roam again. 

No gold have I to buy you gear. 

No treasure save my heart for you. 
And wealth of kisses — kept, my dear. 

Apart for you. 
But ah! I know your hair is gold 

And turquoise are your eyes, my own. 
And in your love a worth untold 
There lies, my own. 

The tumult of the war has passed. 

The nations are at peace, my sweet; 
The tumult in my heart doth fast 
Increase, my sweet. 

22 



sentiment antj l^eflection 

For all the way is long and lone 
That I must travel yet to you. 
And oh! I hunger to the bone 
To get to you' 

My dearest one, be kind and wait 

As truly as I sigh for you. 
For I should deem it happy fate 

To die for you. 
My shoulder-straps and brave success 
Shall gather fame about you, dear. 
But they are less than nothingness 
Without you, dear. 

ocean, bear me back with speed 
To greet the girl who waits for me. 

And fortune fashion to my need 
The fates for me! 

1 ask no gift beyond the ken 

Of humbleness — I miss my love; 
I only ask to see, and then. 
To kiss my love. 



23 



at if}t SCflrt of ifit ©(ttfler gar 



€i)e Etbtng l^oice 



Her voice! Like a tone from a thread of gold 
On a shield of silver it thrills the soul — 

Like the sigh of the sea when the night is old 
And the dawn star floats in its purple bowl — 

Like the crooning night adrift in the spray 

Of crimson and gold on the shores of day! 

Her voice, like a theme of passionate things — 
Like a song in a dream of delight, unguessed — 

Like the mythical music of angels' wings. 

Seems like a strain from a hymn of the blessed — 

Seems like an echo of the voice of her 

The first man loved as a worshiper! 

May her dear voice sing to me so through the 
years. 

With its melody marvelous, always new — 
With its music, distilled of delight and tears. 

As the days are dark or the skies are blue — 
May it be such a song as Eve first sung 
To the love of her love when the world was 



young! 



24 



Sbtntimmt ariH ^tfitttion 



0^emorti 



When first we quaffed love's jeweled cup 
Its golden nectar, bitter-sweet. 
Seemed sparkling with life's ardent heat 

In deathless brilliance flaming up. 

We vowed the future should not hold 
A joy, a grief, a hope unshared 
By our twin souls, and calmly dared 

The Fates to make our love turn cold. 

An empty cup, upturned, I keep — 
A broken trinket, jewel-set — 
No more with brimming nectar wet; 

No more with fragrant promise deep. 

We drained the glass too fast, I fear; 

We vowed too often and too much. 

And so, we find we may not touch 
The thrilling draught once rich and near. 

Still, in the broken cup I prize 
A gleaming jewel that outshines 
The glow of love's resplendent wines. 

The passion of your magic eyes. 

25 



^t tJ)e S)m of (fje dMriQtx fat 

*Tis memory, set in burnished gold. 
And burning with a changeless fire 
Caught from love's slowly fading pyre; 

The sunset of the days of old. 



J>toeet <Clobec 



Over and over the scent of sweet clover 

Lingers and lures like a half-lost dream. 
And seems, under cover of night, like a lover. 

To croon to my soul of an old, old theme. 
Back from the heydays of childhood's playdays. 

Back through the dust and the dearth of the 
years — 
Soft as the fall of a dead leaf — the call of 

A voice flutters out of the past — and its tears. 

Sweet clover, delicious, if longings that wish us 
In the garden of youth could compel, I would 
lie 
In the far wildernesses of blooms whose caresses 
Showered joy on my heart where they smiled at 
the sky; 
Where the hollyhocks, standing, still, stately, com- 
manding, 

26 



Sfttttment anli l^cflection 

Kept guard over mignonettes, myrtle and all 
Of the old-fashioned flowers that gladdened the 

hours 
I dallied and dreamed by the home garden 

wall. 

From the vase where she set them, saying, "Soon 
you '11 forget them," 
The sweet-clover blooms send their fragrance 
to me ; 
But the dear one who placed them, the hands that 
embraced them. 
Are lost to my sight and forever shall be. 
Yet over and over the scent of sweet clover 

Lingers and lures like a half-lost dream. 
And seems, under cover of night, like a lover. 
To croon to my soul of an old, old theme. 



27 



at tf^t S^iqn of tJ)f ©finger g&t 



Spring ^ong 



When a song is in the wind 
And the sapling whispereth 
As a child will catch its breath. 

Telling good news long confined. 

Then I know the spring is come 
And its hosts with full accord 
Soon will praise the sun, their Lord, 

In a mild delirium. 

Once again the high-arched door 
Of life's vernal temple swings 
Open, and gay blossomings 

Strew its green mosaic floor; 

Once again the choristers 
Of the erst chill solitudes 
Pipe their anthems in the woods. 

Filled with humble worshipers. 

Ah, I know that life is fair 

When the sigh of spring is heard. 
And my lonely heart is stirred 

By the music echoed there! 
28 



sentiment anti i^eflccti'on 

But I know that love is blind. 
For I still may not rejoice — 
No! I miss a loved one's voice 

When a song is in the wind. 



for tfje ^afee of tlje J>ong 



For the sake of the song would I sing to-day. 
As the goldfinch warbles its notes awing. 
As the brown thrush hides in the brush to sing 

And the bluebird pipes in the fields of May. 

Let the prophet voices preach and pray 

Where the wheels and heels of traffic ring; 

For the sake of the song would I sing to-day 
As the goldfinch warbles its notes awing. 

Ay, free as the mist in a sun-kissed bay. 

When the dawn peeps over the hills of spring. 
Would my soul rise high to its caroling — 

For the sake of the song would I sing to-day. 
As the goldfinch warbles its notes awing! 



29 



at t^t Sbm oi tije (ffiingfc gat 



€i)e €remolo 



I have seen her to-night in a vision. 

Pour out from her beautiful hands 
A torrent of music elysian 

That my innermost self understands. 
In a whirlpool of harmonic rapture 

My senses were swept with delight. 
And my heart, singing loud at its capture. 

Became her glad captive to-night. 

With the joy of a sanctified spirit 

I cling to the glorious dream; 
And the song — I forever shall hear it. 

And thrill with the throb of its theme! 
For the trend of its cadence uplifted 

My mind from the sordid and vile. 
Till my soul seemed unfettered, and drifted 

At peace in the dawn of her smile. 

Oh, those hands so insistent and slender! 

Would they nestle in mine at repose? 
Oh, her face, so bewitching, so tender. 

And sweet as the first fragile rose ! 

30 



Sentiment anli i^eflection 

Will it ever light up with high pleasure 

To greet me, to welcome, caress? 
Would she be my dear love and my treasure? 
I doubt, in distress. 



0tqfytmqalt'0 ^ttmaht 



A song in my heart pipes ever and ever 

So sweet ! So sweet ! 
But a song that my voice may never, ah ! never 

Repeat ! repeat ! 
Oh, the love of my love is in every beat 
Of the song that my voice may never repeat. 

My sweet ! My sweet ! 

Over your bower I sing tonight. 

My own ! My own ! 
But the song is a wraith of our old delight. 

For lone, alone ! 
I flutter and sigh in the starry zone, 
I flutter and sing alone, alone. 

My own ! My own ! 



31 



at tfje ^m of tf)t ©mger fat 



31 O^utrance 



When rhymsters prate 

With words elate 

Of sweethearts upright and sedate, 

And warble of 

The ones they love 

As if they hailed from realms above, 

The wise enough have eyes enough 

To sec through all that sort of stuff. 

Say, why should I sing of an angel of light 

When my heart is aflame with the fires of earth; 
When the girl I adore is a sprite of the night — 

Just a child of the flesh in a garment of mirth ? 
Away with conventional praises, and such ! 

To the thrill of her kiss will I fashion my song; 
To the passionate glance of her eyes and the clutch 

Of her beautiful arms, so insistent and strong ! 

To the maid of my dreams, when to dream is to live 
With the red pulse resistlessly making the pace. 

Will I drain this ripe cup of my wishes, and give 
The whole of my soul for a single embrace ? 

32 



sentiment antj i^eflwtion 

Nay, lisp me no words of a love that is calm. 
Of devotion that feeds upon cereal food; 

'T is the hypocrite's song, and I long for the psalm 
Of my dear when she calls in her amorous mood. 

You will find her, I know, in the drawing-room's 
glare. 
Where she poses, immaculate, sexless and wise. 
Save for the red glow that burns low in her hair 
And the imperious gleam of her glorious eyes. 
But, at last, when the flight of the dance is at best. 
Ah ! Then will I hold her, and mold her, and 
tease; 
And she 'II tremble and glow like the rose at her 
breast — 
Like an ardent red rose in a tropical breeze ! 



33 



^t tijf Sign of tlje ©ingei 3Jac 



^l)e €amc to ^t 



She came to me 

Like a vision of immortality ! 

Out of the night 

Of my sorrowful search and earthly blight; 

She came like a dream of the far-off sea 

That silvers the shores of eternity — 

God's angel came. 

And my soul leaped high in a vestal flame. 

But my face burned red 

With the scarlet fires of new-lit shame; 

For sweet were the loving words she said. 

And pure the trust I read in her eyes; 

For lo ! she was love's great sacrifice ! 

There in the night 

Of my evil past she sang to me — 

Sang to my heart of a new delight; 

And never a word could I make reply. 

And never a word could I answer why; 

For my shame choked high and death became 

A coveted balm to soothe my shame ! 

34 



SentCment antj i^eflection 

She sang of love that purifies 
Till my soul, at the gates of paradise, 
Burned white in the light of her golden eyes. 
And the past was lost in the radiant flame ! 



I^orace to €{)Ioe 



(Book I., Ode XXIII.) 

Nay, Chloe, child ! be not so wild. 

Nor, like a frightened fawn, thus fly me! 

No wild beast I to rend you — why, 
I 'm harmless, dear one, only try me ! 

No young doe strayed in hill-top glade. 
Far from its mother, would be wilder 

Than you are now; and yet, I vow. 
My wishes hardly could be milder ! 

So, Chloe, dear, pray do not fear. 
But heed my harmless tendernesses 

And learn that you may well eschew 
A mother's care for Love's caresses ! 



35 



at tf^t 5ifl»i of ti)e ^inQtt fat 



2Dap 2DreamiB? 



What time is like the glad springtime, 

When all the trees are green and shady. 
And whisper with a balmy chime 

Above where you 're asleep, my lady? 
What dreams are like the sweet day-dreams 

That drift into your sylvan bower, 
Waywardly, like the light that gleams 

In intermittent golden shower? 

What song is like the wild bird's note 

That lilts from where he sings above you? 
The song he sings with swelling throat 

But tells, sweetheart, how much I love you. 
The arbor vine its tendrils throws 

Across your hammock softly swinging, 
And from your curls a faded rose 

Has dropped and in the grass is clinging. 

What wonder that the arbor vine 

Should strive to clasp its arms about you? 

What wonder that the rose should pine 
And droop and die at last without you? 

36 



Sintim^nt antr i^pawti'on 

With bashful touch the zephyr twines 
Its fingers in your tangled tresses. 

Near where your red lips' curving lines 
Reflect the sunlight's warm caresses. 

The sunlight steals you kisses, dear; 

To do the same I have a craving. 
The zephyr has your curls, I fear; 

But one, I hope, for me you 're saving. 
Awake, my love! the dial's hand 

Is racing toward the evening hours. 
Awake and leave the wonderland 

Of dreams for this fair world of flowers. 



€f)e ^lace of S^op 



The pilgrim sought the garden of delight 

And wandered through doubt's desert lands and night. 

Until, heartsore and broken by the quest. 
He moaned the cynic's creed of earthly blight. 

Then spake the Voice: **Be satisfied and rest; 
Then will the long-sought goal be manifest — 
Joy blooms not in the vale or on the height 
Until contentment blossoms in the breast." 

37 



at tJje Sifln of tf^t ©mfier far 



Eite ^entiente 



The leaves lie dead about my feet — 
Fair summer's mantle cast aside; 

And shrill the glooming winds repeat 
The moaning of my heart's sad tide. 

I know not where the days have sped; 
I only know that long ago 

A dear One kissed my lips and fled. 

The blinding sleet of winter's woe 
Beats on me with a friendly touch. 

And mingles with my tears, that flow 
Unceasingly and overmuch — 

A joy of old each tear I shed; 

But may it be through tears I '11 see 

The sunshine and be comforted? 

Dead, all the bloom and harvest time. 
And all the hopes and high delight; 

And, over all, the fatal rime 

Of winter's chill and love's sad night- 

Oh, tell me, lost one! dost thou tread 
The joyous ways of perfect days. 

Or art thou, as thou seemest, dead? 

38 



SStntimtnt antJ i^eflection 



a^p ^oor l^eigPoc 



My neighbor hath a lordly pile — 
A palace reared of polished stone. 

In which he lives in lavish style. 
Alone. 

I look upon his wealth and smile 
In rare content, while on my knee 
A wee one rides and crows at me — 
My own! 

My neighbor's is a regal place; 

But, oh! it hath no laughing face 
Of childhood there for sympathy. 

My neighbor's garden blooms are fine; 

They rise in hedges topped with gold. 
And all their radiance is mine. 

I see their blossom sheaths unfold; 
I breathe their fragrance day by day. 
And, aye, they nod and smile my way. 

Though I be poor. 
My neighbor's lawn is green and wide. 

And here and there a lofty tree 
With spreading arms stands to divide 

Its store of graceful shade with me; 

39 



at tf^t 5ign of i^t ©inger far 

And oh! I'm sure 
That when the verdant days are gone 
New charms will greet me from the lawn! 

My neighbor hath a host of cares. 
For he must guard his costly wares 

And golden hoard; 
While I, crowned with domestic bliss. 
May gain a fond parental kiss 

He can't afford. 
I and my neighbor never meet. 

An alley separates our lands; 
My house is in a modest street. 

His on the drive — see, there he stands! 
Poor man; he's naught but gold and gear; 
While I have home — and you, my dear! 



40 



S)tntimmt mti Kefiecti'on 



follies of tfje Wi^t 



A man is a fool in his youth, my son. 
And none is wise till his course be run; 
For a woman's eyes or the gleam of gold 
Will dazzle his wits till he 's old — so old! 
And the flirt of a skirt or the thrill of a song 
Will soften his heart for long — so long! 
And a woman's sighs or a woman's tears 
Will make him a slave for years and years. 

A man is a fool at worst — and best — 
And his life is a grim and a guilty jest. 
With a gush of joy or a gasp of pain. 
And the round of his labor, and over again; 
But his toil grows less and his griefs depart 
When he feels the throb of a comrade heart. 
And his life is a beautiful vision while 
He lives in the light of a loved one's smile. 

A man is a fool, for his pride and greed 
Will take him beyond his farthest need. 
And the bauble of wealth or the bubble fame 
Will he seek to his grief or lasting shame; 

41 



at tf)e ^(fln of tf)c (Singer far 

But a woman's love is of all the earth 
Man's rightful gift and of greatest worth. 
And who studies the world in his dear love's eyes 
Is happy indeed, and wise — so wise! 



311 Cljifti iiEf 2B>oni 



"A child is born!" the magi cried, and then 
The Voice spake sofdy in the hearts of men: 
"A child is born whose heritage is such 
That he who sees and knows must love Him much. 
And he who doth obey this Prince of Peace 
Shall know the law that rules the soul's increase. 

The Many saw the Child but turned away 

And said: "A plaything for an idle day!" 

The Few looked in his eyes and saw therein 

The sum of life and death, of good and sin. 

Then spake the Voice: "This is the Savior — Love, 

Lord of the earth beneath and heaven above." 



43 



Sbtntimtnt antj ^tfitctian 



^n mh Eatip 



I know an old lady of over fourscore. 

Who is sweet as the blossoms that bloom by her door. 

Though the frost of her winters has silvered her hair. 

It still has some lusterful shadows to spare; 

And the light that burns low in her spectacled eyes 

Will often blaze up in a way to surprise; 

For there 's youth in her heart, though there 's age in 

her face. 
And her mind retains all of its maidenly grace. 

This charming old lady resides in a town 

Where the flowers look up and the maples look down. 

And the homes have their orchards and vineyards and 

lawns. 
And the days have most radiant sunsets and dawns; 
There 's a maundering river that ceaselessly rills 
And a lake like an opal set low in the hills; 
There 's a one-story cot in an old apple grove. 
And there lives this darling old lady I love. 

The yield of her low-laden trees and her vines 
Is rarer than tropical fruits and fine wines; 

43 



at tf)( S(fln of if)t BinQtt fat 

For she gives it a flavor with smile and kind thought 
That is free as the sunshine, but cannot be bought. 
Her flowers grow gayly in shadow or sun. 
But the rose in her cheek is the prettiest one. 
And her delicate heart that has blossomed for years 
Sheds fragrance distilled from her joys and her tears. 



^IIeli5ion 



** My heart is dead to love," I said. 
And then in study bowed my head; 
But where I sought the higher thought 
I found that loveless life was naught. 

In starry sphere or frailest spear 
Of grass was love, serene and clear; 
Then, on the clod where grief had trod, 
I knelt in fervent love of God. 



44 



sentiment anti Meflcction 



Walt IBljitman 



[A Monologue.] 

I am no slender singing bird 

That feeds on puny garden seed! 

My songs are stronger than those heard 

In ev'ry wind-full, shallow reed! 

My pipes are jungle-grown and need 

A strong man's breath to blow them well; 

A strong soul's sense to solve their spell 

And be by their deep music stirred. 

My voice speaks not, in lisping notes. 

The madrigals of lesser minds! 

My heart tones thunder from the throats 

Of throbbing seas and raging winds; 

And yet, the master-spirit finds 

The tenderness of mother earth 

Is there expressed, despite the dearth 

Of tinkle tunes like dancing motes! 

My hand strokes not a golden lyre 
Threaded with silver — spider spun! 
The strings I strike are strands of fire. 
Strung from Earth's center to the Sun! 

45 



^t tije Sbm of tl)e (Ifimgct far 

Thrilled deep with passion, ev'ry one! 
With songs of forest, corn, and vine; 
Of rushing water, blood, and wine; 
Of man's conception and desire! 

But listen, comrade! This I say: 

In all of all I give my heart! 

With lover's voice I bid you stay 

To share with me the better part 

Of all my days! nights! thoughts! and start 

With far-spread arms to welcome you. 

And we will shout a song so true 

That it shall ring for aye and aye. 



^acriftce 



There are no heights we may not reach; 

There are no depths we may not touch; 
And aye the Sacred Voice shall teach: 

"Who rises high shall forego much! " 

For long I wooed my First Desire — 
It foiled me in its teasing flight; 

And then I left it, to aspire — 

It came and joined me on the Height! 
46 



sentiment anti i^eflectton 



l^octum 



Whispering voice of the modest night. 
Soft as the sigh of a falling leaf. 
Sad like the sob of a new-born grief 

Lulled in the bosom of delight; 

Voice of the starry wilderness. 

Lost in the ancient aisles of light — 
Lingering there in a museful flight — 

Speak to me now with your old caress. 

Voice of the night and voice of my own. 
Kiss from my soul its wan distress; 
Lull my heart to joy's excess 

With the charm of a lover's monotone! 

Is it a dream, this voice serene. 

Whispering down from the starry zone. 
Crooning of love for me alone — 

Love of my love for my heart's dead queen? 

Speak to me, voice of the years untold. 
Echo the thoughts of your olden trust. 
Of men and women turned to dust 

And nations lost in burial mold. 

47 



at tije Sign of tf^t QStinQU 3ax 

Speak to me out of the dreamful past. 

When life was a song from a hoop of gold. 
And say, O night! shall mine eyes behold 

The face of my love again — at last? 



€rue Hobe'^ lUetDarti 



Love, walking in the garden of the king. 
Beheld a queenly lily blossoming. 

Then fondly stooped to pluck it for his breast; 
But said the Voice: **Is this thy cherishing?" 

**Behold !" the Voice spake on; "Love's truest test 
Would leave the blossom where it thrives the best." 
So Love bent down and kissed the chaste, white 
thing. 
And lo ! the king made him an honored guest. 



48 



Btntimmt antJ UtfLutian 



€8e 2Dap'jef €nh 



Boys, I 've been out in the clearin' 

Choppin' up some second-growth. 
And, I swan, it's mighty cheerin' 
When the frost is interferin' 
With yer seein' and yer hearin' 

And yer natchral feelin's, both. 
To hear yer sister's voice a-callin': 
** Supper, pa; the boys is all in! " 

Then I drop my ax and listen, 

Makin' out I didn't hear. 
For I knew a voice like this 'n^ 
Which fer years I've been a-missin'. 
And I seem to catch the glisten 

Of two girlish eyes — it 's queer. 
But yer ma lives in yer sister 
As she was when first I kissed her. 

You remember her as turnin* 

Thirty odd, and all wore out; 
But them days when we was burnin* 
Walnut firewood and earnin' 

49 



at tf)e Sign of t\)t (Singer far 

This old farm jest sets me yearnin' 
That the years could turn about 
And yer ma would call me to her 
From the days when first I knew her. 

Seems to me I didn't treat her 

With the care I should have took; 
Such a faithful wife, and neater 
Than a hummin' bird, and sweeter — 
God forgive me! if I meet her 

There, she '11 wear a lovin' look 
And forgive me — she '11 be callin': 
*' Come in, pa, the night is fallin' ! " 



faitl) 



In thought's black caves the wanderer cries: 
"Bring forth a light to feed mine eyes. 

That on the husks of darkness starve ! 
The light ! the light ! O God, the Wise !" 

And then the Voice speaks, calm and low: 
" My son, thine eyes would perish so; 

The light is fierce and blinds the weak. 
Grope with thy hands and thou shalt know !" 
50 



Sentiment anti i^eflection 



#ber t^t Wap 



Over the way of your dreams, my boy. 
Are wondrous things for your eyes to see. 

And wonderful paths to a world of joy. 

And the marvelous land of the Ought-to-Be. 

There is gold in the dust that your feet will 
tread. 

And diamonds gleam on the wayside grass. 
And wreaths of laurel to grace your head 

Hang waiting to crown you as you pass. 

There are marble castles and broad estates. 

And servants to every wish fulfill. 
And armored hosts at the castle gates 

Stand ready and eager to do your will. 

There are living springs to renew your youth. 
And dreamful shades for your least repose. 

And breezes to fan you with love and truth. 
And gardens that blossom like the rose. 



51 



at tf)c Sijin of tte ©ingec far 

There are wildwoods ringing with songs of birds; 

There arc sumptuous feasts where friends are met 
To greet you with tender and honest words. 

And never a theme that you might regret. 

Ah! over the way of your dreams it lies — 
This land of the Ought-to-Be, so fair; 

This paradise of the cloudless skies. 

Where the Best and Right are everywhere. 

Your childhood lives in this happy land. 
And the loved ones lost in the years ago 

In the glow of the glorious sunlight stand 
And tenderly beckon you there, I know. 

What care if your present path is bleak 

And the shadows clutch at your garments' hem? 

It 's over the way that your soul must seek 
For the light that will ever banish them. 

Just over the way of your dreams, my boy. 
Are wondrous things for your eyes to see. 

And wonderful paths to a world of joy 

And the marvelous land of the Ought-to-Bc. 



52 



Sentiment antj Utfitttion 



€&e 3ta-eft JJope 

Lord, in the gloom of my distress. 
When every earthly hope is fled. 
When joy within my heart lies dead. 

Nor Love may give me one caress — 

Then, Father, from the caves of Grief 
My chastened spirit seeks release; 
My soul pines for celestial peace 

Within Thy Temple of Belief ! 

Oh, fail me not, thou Christian God, 
As human promises have failed! 
I have not fled when sore assailed, 

I have not flinched beneath the Rod; 

For, in each scathing stroke of Fate, 
Has come to me Thy sacred Hope, 
A faith that bids me, though I grope 

In darkness still, to trust — and wait. 

And this last hope I keep, and dare 
The torments of life's heartless feud; 
The tortures of the devil's brood. 

The stinging serpents of despair; 

53 



^t t!)e S^i'gn of tf^t (dinger ^at 

Jehovah Thou must be! — to steal 
The soul of man to bear his cross. 
Else Earth and Time were less than dross. 

And "death" were Life's supreme appeal. 



3Fure 2Dtbmo 



Love is a draught from the lily's cup 

With summer's sweetness brimming up; 

Love is the tremulous, happy note 

That wells from the thrush's swelling throat; 

Love is the dawn, with its heart of fire 

High flaming with a great desire; 

Love is the sigh of the sea, the call 

To the clouds from the wandering waterfall — 

And oh, in the dawn, in the summer and sea 

Sings ever the love of my Love to me ! 



54 



VERSES PLAYFUL AND 
HUMOROUS 



Hark, the very birds are singing, 
*' Josephine ! " 

And within my heart is ringing 
** Josephine! " 

Till my senses, all a-chime. 

Keep repeating, time and time, 

** Have you seen Josephine, 

Sweet, sweet, pretty, sweet Josephine ? *' 

O, she wears a crown of gold, 

Josephine, 
Though she isn *t very old, 

Josephine; 
But she 's growing, day by day. 
And we know that, anyway. 
She 's a Queen Josephine — 
Sweet, sweet, pretty, sweet Josephine. 

55 



^t tf)t S>m of t^e (Bfinger far 

In your kingdom there are many, 

Josephine, 
And I am as poor as any, 

Josephine; 
But the bounty of your smile 
Would increase my wealth a pile — 
Won't you smile on me a while, 
Josephine — 

Sweet, sweet, petite 

Josephine ? 



2Doflp in tl)e Msdn 



When Dolly tiptoed in the rain 

The shameless sun peeped out to see — 

Well, certain charming things were plain 

When Dolly tiptoed in the rain! 

I peeped out, too; but with disdain 
The saucy maiden glanced at me. 

When Dolly tiptoed in the rain 

The shameless sun peeped out to see. 



56 



^lagful anti J^umorous 



^^ Sati|i of <^a^ttt 



The lilies that lean by the altar 

Are pale as My Lady appears. 
And the notes of the choristers falter 

And fall on unlistening ears. 
For her face is more luring and fairer 

Than the loveliest lily unfolded. 
And her grace is more rhythmical, rarer. 

Than by music e'er molded. 

In the pride of her piety, stately. 

Unbending, she moves in the aisle. 
With eyes looking downward sedately. 

With lips uncaressed by a smile. 
She's a saint, from the sole of her sandal 

To the crown of her burnished bronze hair- 
With my heart on her shrine for a candle 

I'd worship her there. 

Well I know why all nature aspires 

And spring's jewels we crush at our feet. 

Why the sun spills the gold of its fires 
And it lies unobserved in the street — 

57 



at tf)p Sbm of tfit a&inger ^ax 

'Tis because from her saintly seclusion 

My Lady emerges, reborn. 
To dazzle, and dare our intrusion. 

And lure us with scorn. 

She comes with her heritage olden; 

Like a sorceress swaddled in smiles 
She will charm us again, unbeholden 

To aught but her womanly wiles. 
She bewilders and blinds, and her voice is 

Like a heavenly promise enthralling. 
We adore her and — well, she rejoices 

That love is our calling! 



€rioIet 



The days pass by and still I wait. 
With all my love for you unspoken. 

I dally with relentless fate ; 

The days pass by and still I wait 

In hope that from your high estate 
You '11 give me some assuring token. 

The days pass by and still I wait. 
With all my love for you unspoken. 

5S 



^lagful antf ?^umorous 



%n ''mn la^aiti 



ff 



There's a spinster of thirty-some years whose abode 
Is at number some hundreds in Sheridan road. 
And the peach-and-cream lassies who live thereabout 
Trip by in gay dresses with many a flout. 
And giggle and whisper they're "really afraid" 
This time-tempered lady will die an *'old maid"! 
Great heavens! just think what a terrible fate — 
To live and to die a forlorn celibate! 

Now, the worst of all this is the evident truth 

That this "lone" maiden lady keeps much of her 

youth. 
Seems ever contented and never to fret. 
And laughs and is gay as if free from regret! 
There are men at her elbow and men at her feet. 
And men in fine turn-outs wait out in the street; 
But, alas! this poor lady will certainly grow 
Much older, and she is unmarried, you know! 

Too bad! 'T is a pity! She's such a nice girl — 
Or spinster — a man must, indeed, be a churl 
Who would fail to discover her beauty and charm! 

59 



at tf)t ^m of tf)c ©tnger 3^t 

Still, the oddest of all is she shows no alarm 
For this horrible fate that impends — can it be 
That she'd rather not marry? She said so to me — 
This is quite confidential: I asked for her hand 
And she didn't seem just to — well, you understand! 



€lje 23e^t i^ame 



When writing verses, dear, to you. 
As swains enamored often do. 

No matter then what name I use 
To keep you in a fair disguise 
From idly prying public eyes. 

There is one privilege I choose: 
Whatever name, or famed or fine. 
You bear, I still must call you Mine. 



60 



^lapful ana ?^umorou0 



Wit^ 2Dat3ESp in t^t Main 



There are many occupations 

Which may fascinate and charm 
By their pleasing operations 

And their teasing spice of harm; 
There is sitting in a street car 

With a lady in the aisle. 
When you hide behind your paper 

With a guileful, guilty smile. 
But this truth is very plain 
To my mildly maddened brain. 

There is nothing to compare, . 

Any time or anywhere. 
To walking home with Daisy in the rain. 

When the scintillating shower 

Drizzles in the dingy street. 
There 's a certain subtle power 

In pedestrians you meet. 
There 's a tantalizing promise 

In each lowly lifted dress 
That is apt to keep you dodging 

Like a shadow, I confess. 
6i 



at tf)t Sign of tf)t CSiitfler far 

But how easy to restrain 
All the ardor that you feign 

For the stranger, when you find 

That your journey is confined 
To walking home with Daisy in the rain. 

While from street to street you wander. 

With her little dimpled hand 
Resting on your arm, you ponder 

If she Ml ever understand 
Why you like a small umbrella 

Hardly large enough for two. 
And you make the journey longer 

Than you really ought to do. 
And you hardly can refrain 
From attempting to explain 

What the trouble is about; 

But you always, always doubt 
When walking home with Daisy in the rain. 



62 



^lagful anti J^umocous 



M>om (iBxape^ 



I never cared the least for Lou, 
Of course; and yet I listened to 

Her girlish chatter 
With pleasure that suggested quite 
A charming quest for one who might 

Take up the matter. 

I will admit I saw the child 

And kissed her hand — whereat she smiled - 

Well, almost daily; 
But Lou was passing sweet and young. 
And then, you know, she laughed and sung. 

Ah me ! so gayly ! 

I kissed her hand, and more, perhaps; 
But just to pique the younger chaps 

Who were so plenty. 
Well — I am one-and-forty now, 
While Lou — dear me, I must allow 

She's won, and twenty! 



63 



^t tfie Sifltt of tf^t (Smsec far 

That gawky son of Banker Rich 

Has gained the dimpled prize for which 

The town was sighing. 
And I — I have the cards she sent. 
A woman's modes of punishment 

Are very trying. 



JHontiei 



You pass beneath my window, dear. 
Garbed in your suit of modest brown; 
You don't look up, but I look down. 

Half in delight and half in fear. 

Fear that you might behold me here 
And greet my glances with a frown — 

You pass beneath my window, dear. 
Garbed in your suit of modest brown. 

Alas, 't is truly most severe 

That you, of all the girls in town. 
Should be to me a Proper Noun — 
No more! though daily through the year 
You pass beneath my window, dear. 



64 



^lagful ant J^umorous 



Jji^er ^ohm wm 



I know, alas, fair dame, that you 

May well deride this slender ditty. 
And laugh to scorn the rhymester who 

Now scorns to laugh, more is the pity! 
But Cupid treats me with disdain 

When in your neat suburban cottage; 
And so his favor I would gain 

By means of this small bit of pottage. 

I met you first at Madame Fine's 

And watched your dancing through the german. 
Your feet were lighter than her wines; 

You juggled with my heart like — Herrmann! 
You wore a flower coronet 

Whose blooms were dimmed by those below it; 
The blossoms crowned you queen, and yet 

You needed no such mark to show it. 

Your white arms were twin scepters such 

As no queen ever had save Venus; 
And could I once but feel their touch 

No monarch would dare come between us! 

65 



at tf)t Sifin of tf^t ©inflec gfac 

And this, dear queen, is what I ask — 
Nor could a vassal wish be fairer — 

On bended knee I pray the task: 
Oh, let me be your scepter-bearer! 



What a gay array of hats! 
Some are mysteries, but that's 

Josephine's! 
I'm certain, by the crown — 
Not a smarter one in town — 

It's a queen's! 

Yet it only gives a trace 

Of the grace and charm of face 

Which it shades. 
For our Josephine is sweet 
As the rarest bloom you '11 meet. 

Ere it fades. 

Underneath the hat she knows 
She *s as winsome as a rose 

In a bower 
Where the sun and shade coquet- 
Oh! how I would love to get 

Such a flower! 
66 



^lagful anti J^umotous 



€rioleti0f S^ntier tje €ttt^ 



Out under the trees 

There are wonderful fancies. 
When one is at ease. 
Out under the trees. 
All the world seems to please 

Like your sweet, roguish glances. 
Out under the trees 

There are wonderful fancies. 

In some of them, dear, 
I dream that you love me; 

But I tremble and fear 

In some of them, dear. 

That you 're fickle, and veer 
Like the gay leaves above me. 

In some of them, dear, 
I dream that you love me. 

In the tree is a nest. 

Where a mother-bird hovers. 
With a song in her breast. 
In the tree is a nest; 
67 



at ifit Sifin of tf)t ©iitflft; far 

And is this not the best 
For birds, dear, or lovers? 

In the tree is a nest 

Where a mother-bird hovers. 

My roof-tree, my sweet. 

Has a nest I have made you. 
To this sheltered retreat — 
My roof-tree, my sweet — 
Will you come — from the heat 

Of the world it will shade you? 
My roof-tree, my sweet. 

Has a nest I have made you. 

From my heart a love song 

Shall I sing for your pleasure; 
Yes, all our life long. 
From my heart a love song 
Shall gush pure and strong 

In victorious measure. 
From my heart a love song 
Shall I sing for your pleasure. 



68 



^lagful &nti ^^umovoug 



flt^p HaUp of 2Dattjn 



She pattered down the garden walk 

And hummed an ancient ballad; 
She paused, and sighed, and plucked a stalk 

Of lettuce for the salad! 

My Lady rises with the day. 

The Morning runs to greet her; 
But vexed Diana flies away — 

The "Maid is so much sweeter! 
Down flowered paths My Lady trips 

On trimmest feet and slender. 
Her gown held up by finger tips 

Like roses, pink and tender. 

She lifts her skirts so prettily 

And shows such ankles, truly, 
I long to comment wittily 

And praise perhaps unduly. 
With laughter in her wooing voice 

She sings, and all around her 
The song birds of the Dawn rejoice 

Because, at last, they 've found her. 
69 



^t if)t Sign of tf)c BinQtx far 

Where'er she treads the grasses bow 

Devotedly before her 
With gifts of jeweled dew — I trow 

She has one more adorer! 
The blossoms are old-fashioned — yes. 

And she the rarest of them. 
She plucks them, and — I must confess- 

Because they 're hers I love them. 



Catalogueti 



**What is love like?" you ask. I guess 
Love wears a chic, beribboned dress 
Of softest, lightest, sunny blue — 
The very kind that best suits you. 
Love has a bonny smile, a face 
That mirrors every maiden grace. 
Gray eyes that read my dearest thought. 
Hair from the golden sunshine caught. 
And charms too numerous to tell. 
Save that they make us love her well. 
In fact, you know — of course you do — 
That love is you! 



70 



^lagful antr ?^umorous 



€|)e ^rice of W^^tntt 



He writes: '*In spite of summer's green. 
The town has lost its diarm, Nadine, 

Since you migrated; 
The drive is wan, the flower beds 
Seem lonely, and their drooping heads 

Emaciated, 
Their dewy blooms were fair to see 
When last you smiled on them — and me! 

"1 '11 swear the sky was bluer then. 
But now — I don't see it till ten — 

My ' blues ' outdo it. 
I think you might come back at least 
A week to cheer a lonely beast — 

You 'd never rue it! 
That Norton girl, the chic brunette 
With saucy eyes, is with us yet. 

"Of course I see her more or less; 
The town is talking some, I guess — 
71 



at tfit Sign of tfit <&inQtt 3Jac 

These gossips bore one! 
She's good enough when you're away. 
But you know well that, come who may, 

I still adore one/ 

I haven't seen Miss N to-night. 

And have, at last, a chance to write." 

MORAL 

Poor man must be amused 

One way or t'other, 
And suns one maid is used 

To court another ! 



72 



i^lagful antj ?^umorou0 



% t^alentme 



Here 's a heart for you, lady, which Cupid 

Has used for a target; the dart 
That remains is the last one the stupid 

Winged at it — impaled it — poor heart ! 
The arrow is topped with a feather 

You wore in that ravishing hat 
When first we went walking together; 

Now, truly, what think you of that ? 

The rest of the missile discloses 

A shaft of your wit, with a tip 
As fine as the tint of your roses 

And bright as the red of your lip. 
Is Cupid your archer, then, tell me ? 

If he aims by the light of your eyes 
He needs must shoot true and compel me 

To fall at your feet as a prize. 

As a valentine, lady, I send you 

The dart, and the heart that it struck; 

In return I implore and intend you 

To give me your own for — good luck ! 

73 



at tfit S^iQU of tf)e ©mger far 

And then, I 'm so grasping and greedy. 
Another arrangement I 've planned; 

That, in manner befitting and speedy. 
You '11 give me your wee little hand. 



3Ilrt gPn^titute a^emoric^ 



It seems so long since she and I, 
Among the throng of passers-by. 
Stood reading in each other's eyes 
The secret of love's mysteries. 

The summer sunlight kissed her lips 
And filtered through her finger tips 
As, one by one, they brushed away 
The curls upon her brow that day. 

Her fair hair mocked the summer shine. 
Her cheeks were red as scarlet wine. 
Her eyes were blue as skies of spring. 
When all the wilds are blossoming. 

And yet, withal, she was so fair, 
I loved and left her hanging there; 
Because, alas! this charming dame 
Was but a picture in a frame. 

74 



^lagTul anti l^umorous 



from ^ca^on to ^ea^tfan 



But yesterday 

I walked with Fay 
Among the lilac hedges; 

We strayed about 

A mile, no doubt, 
A-plucking blooms, and — pledges. 

The day was fair. 

The lilacs there 
Seemed nodding gayly to us; 

The mating birds 

Piped loving words 
To us as if they knew us. 

I held her hand — 

You understand 
I did it for protection; 

We, at each pause. 

Discussed the laws 
Of "natural selection." 

75 



iat tf)e 5)1811 of tijc QUrnQn 3Jai; 

Hcigho! the year 

Is not yet sere. 
And spring but lately tarried; 

I haunt the hedge. 

But glean no pledge. 
For Fay has gone and married! 



€{)e CircujBf 



In my purse there was gold. 
But Grace went to the circus. 

Till the tickets were sold 

In my purse there was gold. 

Ah, 'tis sad to behold 

How our dear sisters work us! 

In my purse there was gold. 
But Grace went to the circus. 



76 



^lai)ful anlJ jtt^umocous 



^procrastination 



My Lady wears a big bouquet 

She calls a bonnet. 
And, oh! you ought to see the way 

She dotes upon it. 
She fluffs it out with gauze cerise 
And pats each pufF and dainty crease 
Until I fear she '11 never cease 

Her unctuous toying. 
But if I venture to complain 
She does the whole thing once again. 
And pouts, and murmurs with disdain: 

"You 're so annoying! " 

My Lady's milliner is high 

In price and standing, 
And scorns my protests when 1 try. 

In tones commanding. 
To make her cut her bill in two; 
She laughs and answers: "Apres vous! 
Monsieur! she vears zose charms for you 

Monsieur's so tasteful! " 

77 



at ti)e Sifin of tf)f Ginger '^ax 

*'Vain man! " think I, but pay the bill 
And let My Lady have her will. 
Content to hold my tongue until — 
She grows more wasteful. 

fact \s€v^u^ f ancp 



When last I strolled these ways with Grace 
We chatted of a country place 

And light expenses; 
A cottage framed in flower beds. 
Yard trees of fir — with close-cropped heads — 

And rustic fences. 

Then Love was ever to be king 

And all the days with songs should ring. 

And we would sing them; 
Or I might play the rustic squire 
And read the classics by the fire — 

If luck would bring them. 

A market gardener keeps the cot. 
And beets adorn the garden spot — 

So much for fancies! 
Grace wedded, some two years ago, 
A millionaire — she chanced to know 

His circumstances! 

7S 



^lagful antj ?^umorou0 



% 25acJjelor*j0i l^almtme 



If I were younger, Mary Jane 

Would not so gayly flout me. 
Or if she did I 'd make it plain 

She could not do without me. 
She will not be my valentine. 

Forsooth, the maids are plenty — 
I '11 venture that she would be mine 

If I were one-and-twenty ! 

Why, forty years ago there were 

A score I could have married. 
And every one outfavored her; 

But then, of course, I tarried 
Till Ann and Lou and Susie, too. 

And all the rest, I mind me. 
Dropped me because, they said, they knew 

They knew not where to find me. 

But as it is the Widow Black, 
Thank heaven, has some reason. 

And knows that men, like fruit, don't lack 
In worth if out of season. 

79 



^t tf)t ^m of tf)c ©inget far 

To her I '11 send a billet-doux 
And state my fortune clearly — 

Some thousands, I '11 admit to you — 
And she will love me dearly! 



I must confess that I 'm afraid 
To meet the stunning urban maid 

In all her frills and finery; 
I fear I 'd love her at first sight. 
But, in despair, would take to flight 

And go to a repinery. 

But in the suburbs there are those 
Who wear the quaintest quiet clothes. 

And manners quite to match them. 
These maids smile sweetly and we love- 
We love to muse and ponder of 

Some happy way to catch them. 

The town girl has a regal way. 
And, during her triumphant day. 

Will hardly bear a curb on. 
She 's urban and she makes things hum. 
But for to-day and time to come 

Give me the sweet suburban! 
80 



^lagful anti ?^umorous 



5Fn tljc ^torm 



My child, your hero may not be. 

In truth, a hero all the time; 
Remember, it must chance that he 

Shall still have rugged steeps to climb. 
Don't place him on too high a plane 

In fancy; then he will not fall 
In your esteem and may attain 

To something noble after all. 

My boy, don't think your sweetheart bears 

A halo on her golden hair; 
A crown of purity she wears. 

And you must help to keep it there. 
But she will have her trying moods. 

And be not always kind and sweet; 
These are life's nerving interludes — 

Sad pitfalls for unwary feet. 

You both are far from perfect yet. 
And quarrels will, unhaply, come — 

Both may be wrong; so don't forget. 
In anger's blind delirium, 
8i 



^t tijc *(Qn oC tl)f e.fmjfi ^iat 

That sweet concessions each must make 
And tender promises renew; 

Or else a loving heart may break 

Aiul sorrow come to dwell with you. 

Wc ^f^ft tip €ltanfc 



Wc nu't \i\ chaiuc! Yes, 1 recall 
I foiiiul lu-r wailing in the h.ill 
Of Mine. Dainty's charming flat. 
She wore a jaunty Dresden hat 
Above a lace that might enthral 
An anciiorilc. A gau/.y shawl 
or while hall hid her charms; and all 
Tiic vision told nic iliat 

Wc met by chance! 

As in an angle ol ihc w.dl 
She stood -- dressed lor a liniev ball. 
Perhaps — a blushing shepherdess, 
With ribboned crook, 1 could but look 
A love that 1 dared not cximcss. 
Yet, in her eyes, as from a book, 
1 read consent; then walked away, 
Because tiiis maid 1 met to-day 
Was porcelain, exquisite, small — 

Wc met by chance! 

83 



^|Jla;i^ul antj }l^umoiou0 



iriaiini^2Dap |>otc^ 



The rasping rain runs duwii (lie pane; 

The wliolc- liigliway is flooded; 
The elms sol) low, and weep, althi^ijdi 

Their leaves wiili gems arc studded. 
The postman plods with dripping odds 

And ends (^fmail- I MI warrant 
Some tender nole (rom parr-i remote 

Is deluged by the torrent. 

Some dainty maid, nrj doiilii, (•■.saycd 

With III mo;, I care and nealnesH 
I he note to pen, and mailed it, then. 

In all its pristine sweetness; 
And fondly she imagines lie 

Will get it in its glory — 
The fates vclu the plan, and so 

'T is just the same old story! 

Alas! tlie years must have their tears — 
Those heart rains so distressing; 

The storms that mar life's joys and arc 
Bound aye to kcej) us guessing. 

83 



at tilt Si'fln of tte (SiinQtt §at 

The message yet, though soiled and wet, 

A joyful heart may capture; 
And may not we through sorrow see. 

Anon, some hint of rapture? 



flatterp 



You tease for a rhyme 

That will "tickle and flatter"; 
Must I write every time 
You tease for a rhyme. 
Little woman? Well, I 'm 

Quite enthralled by your chatter • 
You tease for a rhyme 

That will "tickle and flatter." 



84 



^lapful anil ?^unnn;ou0 



€mltt^ of 2Di^cmion 



She drew her little hand away 

And, pouting, warned me **not to tease." 
Was it in truth, or just in play. 
She drew her little hand away. 
That rare and radiant summer day. 

When we sat side by side at ease ? 
She drew her little hand away 

And, pouting, warned me not to tease. 

He drew his little hand away 

And scanned it with inquiring eyes; 

Remarking, '♦ It takes five to stay." 

He drew his little hand away. 

And left me guessing how to play. 
The while I stared in awed surprise. 

He drew his little hand away 

And scanned it with inquiring eyes. 

*• Two bluffs were those," perhaps you '11 say. 

I thought so, too, but did n't ''call"; 
I did n't clearly see my way. 
"Two bluffs were those," perhaps you'll say; 
85 



at t|)e Sifln of ti)t (GXingec ^ax 

But if they were n't ! — I must betray 
A shrinking from the "marble fall." 

*'Two bluffs were those," perhaps you'll say; 
I thought so, too, but did n't " call." 



I©l)cn JBap 2Dap €omt^ 



When pay day comes what transports thrill 
The o'ercharged soul and seem to fill 

The whole wide world with blissfulness! 

Each stranger face smiles a caress; 
The rustle of the crisp bank bill 
Sounds sweeter than the blithesome trill 
Of spring's first songster, and a still. 

Deep sense of riches we confess 

V/hen pay day comes. 

Whereas despair was rife, the skill 

Of hidden forces works until 

Our cherished griefs grow strangely less - 
Are lost in raptures that possess 

The citadels of mind and will 

When pay day comes! 



86 



^lagful ant» ?^umotouss 



€lje Mmq anH tjje i^eart 



This ring I give to you, my dear. 
Is passing quaint and old and queer; 
Two golden serpents help enthrone 
Its deep, seductive heart of stone. 
Pray, if the golden snakes were gone 
Might not the jewel heart throb on 
With sympathetic beat and thrill — 
Be not, as now, cold, hard and still ? 

Sometimes about the human heart 

The serpents play their selfish part. 

And in the pulseless grip of gold 

The heart, poor thing, grows hard and cold- 

A jewel counterfeiting fire 

And flashing with entranced desire. 

That nevermore shall find a voice 

To make some kindred heart rejoice. 

Then let this talisman, this ring. 
Save you from such a deadly thing; 
Beware of golden snakes, and strive 
To keep your tender heart alive; 
87 



^t tf)e Sign of tf)e dinger far 

And if you fear this may not be 
Without assistance, come to me. 
And in my love will I enshrine 
That deep, seductive heart of thine. 



% Pace of Refuge 



In this my den the haunting muse 
Sometimes my wayward thought pursues 
And leads it to a sylvan nook 
To rest beside a purling brook — 
The very spot that one would choose. 
Then what delight it brings to lose 
All consciousness of sounds that bruise 
The mind; of paper, pen and book 
In this my den. 

Outside, the city's thunders fuse 
In one dull roar, and passing shoes 
Squeak by my door; and if I look 
One moment from my dream the crook 
Of fate recalls me to^ " the blues " 
In this my den. 



88 



^lagful anti ?^umorous 



iear^ %fttt 



The years upon you lightly lie. 

Your verve has carried all before it; 
And yet I must admit that I, 

Though thrice enchanted, half deplore it. 
I 've watched new gallants win your smiles 

And wished I might have done as they did. 
But knew, alas ! that all my wiles 

Were, like my coat, antique and faded. 

I see your golden hair has lost 

None of its sunny grace and luster; 
My locks have felt an early frost 

And but a sorry few I muster. 
Your eyes still challenge — do they not ? 

Those keen gray eyes which could be tender. 
Ah me ! you 've hardly changed a jot; 

Still, were you not a bit more slender ? 

'Tis thus that fickle Time presumes 

To tease us in this life of ours; 
You still preserve your youthful blooms. 

And I preserve — some faded flowers! 
89 



^t ti)t Sign of tf)e ©I'nger fat 

Oh, just a bit of summer-time, 

'Tvvas many years ago you gave them; 
They serve to point a piece of rhyme. 

And that, of course, is w^hy I save them ! 



H^itftout 3Ilijail 



Without a veil I saw her stand 
Upon the calm lake's pebbled strand; 
The day was hot, the sun was bright 
And kissed with evident delight 
Her rosy cheeks — already tanned — 
With freedom I would fain command; 
She seemed a nymph of summer-land — 
A sylvan goddess robed in white 
Without a vale. 

She little knew the **coup" I'd planned! 
She smiled, her flossy tresses fanned 

By fragrant winds in playful flight; 

But when I spoke, with gay despite 
She told me I had sought her hand 
Without avail. 



90 



^lagful anti ?t^itnorous 



^iqueti 



For beauty's sake she lives. 
And, beauty's self, she gives 

A finer seeming 
To all the cloudless day; 
And as she trips my way 

I fall to dreaming 
That Goddess Flora's come 
Straight from elysium. 

She moves with rhythmic grace. 
And watchful eyes might trace 

A flash of stocking. 
The poetry of pose 
Is hers — the stocking shows 

A bit of clocking ! 
Those clocks are only fast 
In that she hurries past. 

The curls that veil her face 
Seem music held in space 

91 



^t tf)t Si'fln of tf)t QMnQtx far 

By golden tether. 
And as she flouts her head — 
Curls, lips and airy tread 

All sing together. 
In laughter's lightest vein, 
A chorus of disdain ! 

Thus youth must have its fling 
And spring must laugh and sing. 

Scornful and joyous. 
We ancients are more wise. 
But, though we moralize. 

The laughs annoy us. 
I 'd have that youngster know 
She 's not the entire show ! 



92 



^lagful antr ?^umorou0 



H^oulti 25e ^ott €|jan l^m 



My Lady is most fair and kind 

When on the meads we stroll together. 
And breezy as the balmy wind 

And smiling as the sunny weather. 
The sun entangles in her hair. 

Her eyes reflect the skies above her. 
And tulips blush and blossom where 

There are two lips for some true lover. 

My Lady wears a muslin gown 

That flutters in a way engaging. 
And when she romps across the down 

She knows she sets my pulses raging; 
For her light feet are swift, indeed — 

In fact, I know no maid to match her — 
And, though I race with all my speed, 

I find, alas! I cannot catch her. 

My Lady's white, bejeweled hands 
Are fragile as they are entrancing, 

And still the reins she understands. 

And holds while steeds — and men — are 
dancing. 

93 



^t if)t Sbm of t|)c dMnqtx far 

Dear lady mine, will you be kind. 
And give the ribbons to another — 

And me your hand — for, oh, I find 
I cannot bear to be your brother! 



0^ap anti 5^une 



May trips in the dance. 
But June follows after. 

With a hint of romance 

May trips in the dance; 

But June comes with a glance 
Of love-making and laughter. 

May trips in the dance. 
But June follows after! 



94 



iPlagful anti ?^umotous 



€l)Ioe*^ l^alentine 



With growing sense of diffidence 

She pauses at the corner. 
Quite unaware her bashful air 

Doth passing well adorn her — 
A child of Eve, bound to achieve 

Her wish and post her letter. 
Though fearing lest some one has guessed 

The tremors that beset her. 

A valentine! — the lace design 

Upon the packet shows it. 
The address down for fear the town 

Will know it as she knows it. 
Well, little maid, a careless Blade 

May hold it in derision. 
Nor even guess the tenderness 

That prompted your decision! 

The paper lace may find a place 

Among his pipes and papers. 
Considered quite unique and bright — 

When folded into tapers! 

95 



at ti)e Bm of ti)t dinger SJar 

Ah, well-a-day! the maids must play 
At love and pay the piper. 

But youth shall prance a lively dance 
When Chloe's years are riper! 



lHonliel— €ljc IBooti^Cliru^fj 



In the twilight of the trees 

Hear the wood-thrush singing 
Low, sweet summer harmonies. 
In the twilight. 

Warbles he with wondrous ease. 

On a lithe branch swinging 
In the twilight of the trees. 

Bell-like tones the laden breeze 

From his throat is bringing — 
Lo, sweet summer harmonies 

In the twilight! 



96 



^laj)ful antj J^umorous 



^W SDiplomacp 



She read the long amusement list, 
Then sate her down to writing; 

This is the letter she dismissed — 
So tender and inviting: 

I 'm writing to you, dear, to-day 
Because I have so much to say 

That won't keep till to-morrow. 
But first, I want to whisper this — 
I send you back that foolish kiss 

You gave, or did I borrow? 

You naughty boy! I 'm quite ashamed 
To even have the subject named. 

Excepting in a letter. 
You must come up to-morrow night; 
I think that then, perhaps, I might 

Explain the matter better. 

Dear boy, you know I miss you so. 
Because — you surely ought to know 
The reason why; now, don't you? 

97 



at tf)e Sbm of tilt ©ingcc gar 

And when you come, bring up some creams - 
When were the last? How long it seems! 
You '11 bring them surely, won't you? 

You ought to see my "latest " gown; 
And, by the way, that play 's in town! 

The horrid one; I 'm dying 
To see the thing — it's quite the rage. 
I know you just abhor the stage; 

But, you 're so self-denying! 

Now, don't forget, you dear old thing. 
To bring the tickets — and, oh, bring 

That latest photograph of you — 
It looks so handsome and so fine! 
Perhaps I '11 give you one of mine; 

Would one of those "back numbers" do? 



98 



i^lagful antj l^umotous 



% l^alentine 



Time was, sweet dame (when broidered coats were 
smart. 
And doublets, puffed with finest textured lace. 
On manly fronts found proper resting-place). 

That valentines played friendship's kindly part 

In all sincerity, and when the heart 

Of earnest love might feel it no disgrace 
In verses neat its fondest hopes to trace. 

Or spell its servitude with modest art. 

Then gallantry was deemed no foppish thing 
Fit only for the perfumed parlor knight; 
But men who fought to keep their honor bright 

Were proud to serve My Lady and to bring 
The homage of fair words and gentleness 
To charm her moods with friendship's fine caress. 

Thus would I, though I fear my words be trite. 
The old example emulate to-day. 
And in this humble, halting sonnet pray 

That I may find some favor in your sight. 

My love shall minister to your delight, 

L.ofC. 99 



^t tfft Sbm of tf)t ©tngec fat 

Or serve you in misfortune's sad delay. 

And guard you from all evil, come what may. 

And be to you all that is requisite. 

My strength you shall command in every sense. 
Nor will I ask a haughty bondsman's fee; 
I '11 ask that you be this — true heart to me. 

With, now and then, a smile for recompense. 
Ah, may I in your answer, sweet, divine 
That you will be, indeed, my valentine? 



%h^tmt 



The mock-bird sings in the dusky morn 
With a cadence sad and a song forlorn; 
Yet his soul is glad, for he know that love 
Broods fondly in a nest above. 

So I, though lone because removed 
So far to-night from my own beloved. 
Thrill with delight, for I think of you. 
And know love broods in your home-nest too. 



lOO 



^lagful anti l^umorous 



€f>e l©eUt»m0 €ime 



The celibate must croak, forsooth! 
'Tis much he knows of love and youth, 

To speak in such a fashion; 
Because his cracked old cynic heart 
Has played, no doubt, a selfish part 

He sneers at love's glad passion. 

This is the merry marriage time — 

Sing, ho, the wedding ditty! 
And yet it but reminds me I 'm 

Unwed — is 't more the pity? 
I used to be a gay gallant. 

With sweethearts fair and many; 
But now, if I would wed I can't. 

For loves I have n't any. 

This is the mating month of June — 

Sing, hi, the bridal carol! 
For down the aisle the bride will soon 

Appear in white apparel; 
The spirit of the sweet wild rose 

Will keep her cheeks in flower; 
Her pulse will romp for joy — it knows 

The Business of the Hour. 

lOI 



^t i^t S>m of ti)e ©inget far 

Sing, ho, sing, hi, the time is come 

When wedding-bells will jingle! 
A host will laugh and dance, and some 

Their smiles and tears will mingle. 
Fair maid, brave youth, 'tis summer now. 

But as you stand together. 
Hands clasped, pray that your marriage vow 

May last through wintry weather. 



% Cfjri^tmajBf Wi^^ 



O, Santa Claus ! I ask no toys 
Such as suffice for grown-up boys; 
No rings or smoking-jackets fine; 
No presents of cigars or wine; 
No pillows of unique design. 
I do not ask for bonds or stocks; 
For chased and gilded mantel-clocks. 
Nor even fine embroidered socks. 
I only ask that you will send 
The gracious presence of a friend. 



I02 



^lagful anti ?^umorous 



St^p l^alentine 



But once a year the Fates, my dear. 

Permit me thus to write to you — 
Alas! they don't insure this won't 

Seem ludicrous or trite to you. 
For weeks I 've penned stray lines to blend 

In singing verse to woo your heart; 
But words are weak, nor half bespeak 

My love. Ah, if I knew your heart! 

These winter days, when you upraise 

Your eyes, and, smiling, glance my way. 
Fair summer smiles with all her wiles. 

And joys, light-footed, dance my way. 
But if you frown — ah! then the town 

Becomes a frigid waste to me. 
And black despair broods everywhere. 

And sorrows crowd in haste to me. 

All this and more. Since I adore 
So fondly, may I court you, dear? 

I '11 buy you things, bonbons and rings. 
And later I '11 support you, dear. 
103 



at ti)P S>m of tfit ©inflcr 3lac 

Come to me, sweet, slow-paced or fleet. 
Choose any of the ways to come; 

Be, maid of mine, my valentine 
To-day and all the days to come! 



%t ^totMiation 



While looking down the green highway 

I saw a damsel pass to-day. 

She wore a lawny gown of red, 
A crown of poppies on her head. 

And flossy locks of gold astray. 

Qiioth I: •♦ Young maiden, whither, pray?" 

She lifted smiling lips to say: 

** 'T is graduation day! " and fled, 
While looking down. 

Alas! though graduate she may, 

I saw her roguish eyes betray 

Gay proof of study still ahead — 
For maids must learn to woo and wed. 

And vanquish in the social fray — 

While looking down! 



104 



llagful anti g^umoi;ou0 



<©n tfje Mvttt 



My Lady, muffled deep in furs. 

Rides gayly by me, quite unknowing 

That cheeks with blooms as bright as hers 
Are fairer than the fairest showing 

Of scarlet blossoms in bouquets 

Of garden plots in summer days; 

That in this clear and frosty weather 

Her smiles call June's best tints together. 

My Lady, in her brown and ermine. 

And bear-skin robe, tucked well around her. 

Seems sweeter than I dare determine 
By an analysis profounder 

Than gazing in her brilliant eyes 

For briefest space, like one who tries 

In instant glancing at the sun 

To learn its secrets, one by one. 

My Lady goes with bells a-jangle, 
A "tiger" and a coachman stately. 

The runners rasp; her tresses tangle — 
A boa clings to her sedately. 
105 



^t tf^t Sign of t^e d^inqn far 

Oh, I know one who fain would run 
Beside her sleigh till day is done! 
He walks instead — a mere beholder - 
And feels the day is growing colder. 



%tii^^ tf)t il^ap 



Across the way dim shadows play. 

Where fragrant blossoms blush and sway 
With every touch of wanton wind. 
And blond bees clutch in ardor blind 

The tender blooms, or, droning, stray 

Where dandelion blots inlay 

With gold the green lawn's gay display 
Of rippling grasses intertwined 

Across the way. 

But, best of all. My Lady May 
Sits basking in the sun; and pray. 
In all the dooryard can you find 
A bud to beauty more inclined 
Than May — just two years old to-day — 
Across the way? 



1 06 



^lagful aria J^umecous 



€J>e ^romenatie 



My Lady promenades the drive 

And smiles upon me, quite contented 
In knowledge that, howe'er I strive, 

I am about her half demented. 
One small gloved hand rests on my arm 

With lightest touch, almost caressing. 
That fills me with a vague alarm 

That it may feel my heart confessing. 

My Lady wears a silken dress 

That rustles in the breeze contrary; 

She fights the wind in gay distress. 
And blushes like a rosy fairy. 

saucy wind, be not unkind! 

Your gentler mood is more assuring; 
And yet, to my enraptured mind. 
You make My Lady most alluring! 

But yesterday I strolled alone 

Upon the drive, and thought it gloomy; 

1 noticed that the birds had flown 

And longed for summer, green and bloomy. 
107 



at tfje S^ign of t^e Binq^t 3lat 

To-day the singing birds are here. 
And carol in My Lady's laughter; 

O, will you be my June, my dear. 
And all the golden days thereafter? 



gff 3F f>rojJ03Efe 



If I propose a walk, a ride, 
A round of golf, or aught beside. 
You 're almost certain to decline 
To make your plans accord with mine- 
Yet if I go away you chide. 
How many, many times I 've tried 
For your amusement to provide. 

But dance nor play — nothing is fine 
If I propose. 

Henceforth I '11 not attempt to guide 

My Lady fair, but shall abide 

In peace unique and masculine — 
Confound it! I shall not repine. 

But don't refuse to be my bride 

If I propose. 

108 



^lagful anti ?^umorou0 



Mptitllt 



Whom do I love ? And must I tell. 
Sweetheart, the whole list through ? 

I love — now let me think a spell — 
I love — well, I love you ! 

Nay, don't protest and hide your facc- 
Dear me ! and blushes, too ! 

And is it, then, a sad disgrace. 
My own, that I love you ? 

One day you came a-visiting 
My heart — no doubt you knew 

You entered without knock or ring — 
And stayed ; so I love you. 

You 're not so very large, and still 

I fear me it is true 
That in my heart no other will 

Find place while I love you. 

So here 's a kiss — a new-signed lease ; 

Thus love shall aye renew 
Your freehold in my heart, and peace 

Shall reign, for 1 love you ! 
109 



at ttje Stfln of tf^t (ffirinflec gjat 



J^er Setter 



I have your letter over-sea. 

With dainty superscription w^rit 
The treasured missive came to me. 

Its brightness beaming more than wit; 
Its simplest phrase a w^itchery 

Of words, wherein yourself was hid. 
What wonder that I fondled it. 

And held it as I 've held your hand? 

Dear love, I know you '11 understand. 

Just as our fair First Mother did! 

The contents of the tender note — 
Well, really, I cannot recall 

The phrases as if learned by rote; 
And yet, ah yes, I know them all! 

They were almost too sweet to quote; 
So musical those magic words 

That, as I hsten now, they fall 
In jeweled strands of golden song 
As wooing, cooing as a throng 
Of newly mated woodland birds. 
no 



^lagful anti g^umorous 

It may be no endearing thought 

Was pictured there in black and white; 

But, as I read the lines, I sought — 
Discovered, too, with keen delight — 

Some little waifs of heart-love, caught 
Like Cupid tangled in the net. 

That maidens dangle for the sprite. 

Your hand had penned the words; and so. 
Of course, sweetheart, I could but know 
That your caresses lingered yet. 



Eap^ tftat ^Ita^t 



In other days the Poet's lays 
Were objects of unstinted praise. 
To-day, you know, the lays that please 
Are those that grow in henneries. 



Ill 



at tl)e 5tfln of tf)e (fiiitflcc 3Jat 



J^orace to HpHia 



(Book I., Ode XIII.) 

Oh, Lydia, loved one ! how jealous my heart is 
When Telephus' red neck and wax arms you admire. 

And I see that kid with you at late Roman parties — 
Ah, then from sheer anguish I all but expire ! 

The wheels in my head get to whirling insanely; 

The rich autumn tints of my cheek turn to scarlet; 
My vigil-dimmed eyes begin leaking inanely. 

And my soul is aflame — all because of that varlet ! 

I rage when, half tipsy, he stains your white shoulders 
With bruises, and quarrels with you o'er his Massic, 

Or kisses you roughly before all beholders. 

And scars with his boy lips your coy lips so -classic ! 

I warn you he '11 scorn you without a compunction 
When least you expect it — as he came between us — 

For, a brute he must be that would wound with such 
unction 
Lips filled with the lurements and nectar of Venus ! 

*^if *^ *4^ ^1^ 

'I* 'T* "T* ^* 

112 



Ah, Lydia ! more than thrice happy the people 
Who, in love's gentle bonds, have no discord or 
smarting; 

And, in marital life and felicities, keep all 

The pains of disunion for death's final parting ! 



% Eo^t €alxmm 



Among the palms the Thing was lost — 
That gilded circlet, rich embossed. 

And marked from " From Ned to Bessie." 
"Aring?"— Oh, no! "A belt ?"— not yet! 
An ample g — oodness ! In ber set 

They 're alv^rays swell and dressy. 



"3 



^t ti)e &iQn of tf^t (iMnQtt gjac 



l^orace to Heuconoe 



(Book I., Ode XI.) 

Leuconoe, you needs must see 

That he who by astrology 
Divines his fate will it await 

A prey to sad chronology. 
Forbidden lore like that is more 

Deceiving than ontology; 
Is death to joy and sleep, my boy. 

And nurtures rank pseudology ! 
Take heed that he whom the Chaldee 

Enthralls by weird horology 
Gives gold for sooths whose rank untruths 

Demand more than apology. 

Be patient, friend, until the end 
That great Jove has assigned you. 

And rest assured it can't be cured. 
Nor needs a guide to find you. 

If chance your days be brief — why, praise 
The gods that trouble 's spared you ! 
1T4 



If they be long, then pipe a song 
For added joys declared you ! 

Be wise and gay, and let each day 
Be blest, nor fear to-morrow — 

Strain well your wine, all cares decline 
And banish time and sorrow ! 



€Je dtdipgt 



From gauzy mists of far, translucent white 

Diana smiled upon her lord the Earth, 
And all the trysting, star-embowered night 

Beheld the sight with flashing eyes of mirth. 
But Earth, as wooed to leave his ancient place. 

With his dark presence kissed Diana's lips; 
And then — oh, then ! — her ardent, blushing face 

Passed slowly into a complete eclipse. 



1^5 



at tij? S^m of tlit i&mn §at 



Sl^atirigal 



The troubadours sing merrily 
Of maids of wealth and station 
Who have no occupation 
Save breaking hearts; but, verily. 
My wit must run contrarily; 

For, with unfeigned elation, 
I sing a maid without renown — 
Sweet Dolly in her gingham gown! 

She smiles on me diurnally 

As I pass by her posies. 

Just now she prunes her roses 
And talks to me fraternally. 
But dazzles me supernally 

When her flared gown discloses 
The fairest throat in all the town — 
Sweet Dolly 's in her gingham gown! 

Heigho! If I were not so old — 
Long years too old for folly — 
This dear suburban Dolly 

Might find me seeming overbold; 
ii6 



Might not complain that I am "cold" 

And growing melancholy ! 
Ah, well! she '11 wed some youthful clown. 
Will Dolly, in her gingham gown! 



%t t|)e oBate 



My love to you. And can't you guess 

The more than passing tenderness. 

Dear maid of mine, that makes me wait 
Like patient Job beside your gate 

Despite your long delay, ** to dress " ? 

Ah! If you knew my heart's excess 

Of eagerness and sweet distress 

There were small need to name and prate 
My love to you. 

You wait to dress, and I to press 

My suit — amusing, I confess — 
And yet I must berate the fate 
That keeps me on the rack so late 

At fitting phrases to express 

My love to you. 



117 



^t tf)t Sbm of tfje iiMnQtx fat 



^otatt to Eptita 



(A Paraphrase.) 

Sweet Cupid was my friend. 

Long time ago; 
Yet would his arrows lend 

My dearest foe. 
These fragile darts you sent 

With will unsparing — 
My love the punishment 

For all your daring. 
At last the warfare ceased. 

And Cupid left me. 
Withal my friends increased. 

He had bereft me. 
I mourned him as one dead. 

Or lost forever. 
And missed his cherub head. 

Darts, bow and quiver. 
But oh ! last night I found him. 

To my surprise. 
And saw that you had bound him 

Fast in your eyes ! 
ii8 



^lagful anti it?umorous 



Rotate to €^\(it 



(Paraphrase in Triolets.) 

Dear Chloe, this rose 

I send as a token; 
Yet do not suppose. 
Dear Chloe, this rose 
Can begin to disclose 

All that I would have spoken. 
Dear Chloe ! This rose 

I send as a token. 

On its lips a caress 

I have placed for your finding ! 
Ah, I could not do less 
On its lips ! A caress, 
I admit with distress. 

On a rose is not binding ! 
On its lips a caress 

I have placed for your finding. 

Like the rose, my poor heart 

Will pine if neglected. 
While it now blooms apart 
Like the rose, my poor heart 
119 



at tl)e S)ign of tf)e (llimgcc gfac 

Will wither and smart 

If its suit be rejected ! 
Like the rose my poor heart 

Will pine if neglected ! 

So, Chloe, dear child. 

Give heed to my wooing. 

And be reconciled 

So, Chloe, dear child. 

To my flower and the mild- 

Mannered course I 'm pursuing ! 

So, Chloe, dear child. 

Give heed to my wooing ! 



1 20 



^lafiful antj ?^umorou0 



J^orace to Slptiia 



(A Satire, Book I., Ode XXV.) 

Old sweetheart mine, your charms decline 
And Roman youths now rarely woo you. 

Your casement seems fit place for dreams. 
For few knock there in homage to you. 

Your friendly door, that used before 
To freely swing, is now neglected. 

Save, Lydia, dear, that I am here — 
Your ancient lover, long rejected ! 

Are you asleep — or deaf? I keep 
My lonesome vigil under protest ! 

Also, despite my age, to-night 

My love is proved or I know no test ! 

'T is well you hate the youths who prate 
Of spotless maids and guileless pleasures. 

And laugh to scorn those who adorn 

Chill Hebrus' shrine with dry-leaf treasures ! 

121 



at tt)e S>m of tfit (SxinQti Sjai 

I warned you they would run away 

From you in search of something younger; 

But here am I, old charmer — try 
To satiate my great heart-hunger ! 



% Wail 



He touched me, and a vague unrest, 
A subtile tremor, thrilled my breast. 

With eager eyes he scanned my face. 
And then he spoke. Ah! who can tell 

The mystery of words, the grace 
Of speech with which he wove the spell 

That made me trust him so? I know 
That you will sneer, and say. 

Regardless of my loss and woe. 
That this thing happens every day; 

But you may show more kindness when 

I say, "He touched me for a Ten! " 



122 



^lagful ant pt^umorous 



%t tt^e Concert 



The leader waved his light baton; 

The frail bows of the players trembled; 
A flash! a flare! the height was won 

And all the hosts of song assembled! 
Resistlessly the overture 

Swept on and captured sense and reason; 
Then Chloe smiled — success was sure 

For this first concert of the season. 

The chairs were filled with charming folk. 

And beauty vied with wealth and talent; 
The graciousness the music woke 

Was showered on some near-by gallant. 
The symphonies were often light. 

But Chloe' s heart seemed ever lighter; 
Tschaikowsky's dancing themes were bright. 

But Chloe's eyes were always brighter. 

As on and on the music sped. 

Or paused in somber note and measure. 
It seemed as if all sense had fled 

Save that of vague, ecstatic pleasure, 
123 



sat tfit Sifln of U)c (ffiinBcc fat 

Which held the nerves in rhythmic bonds; 

But Chloe stirred her golden tresses 
And then I thought of naught but blondes 

And scarlet plumes and silver dresses. 



J>ame (Dlti bonnet 



I would a moment of" my time engage 
Shaping a sonnet to your lovely brow. 
'Tis understood, I think, that I must vow 

That you 're the fairest maid of any age. 

And that eons of time could not assuage 

The grief with which I would behold you bow 
Your head to weep, and I would not allow 

The rolling worlds that dot the gilded page 
Above to shine another fleeting hour. 

Provided they — the stars — disturbed your sleep. 
And I must speak about the hair that twines 
Upon your brow like vines around a bower. 

And I must tell you of my love, so deep 

That one can't fathom it with fourteen lines. 



124 



^lagful antJ ll^imocoug 



Billanelle 



She stood pale and correct. 
Not the least bit excited. 
As I well recollect. 

She strove not for effect. 

Nor was she affrighted; 
She stood pale and correct. 

I had tried to detect 

Signs of love unrequited. 
As I well recollect. 

There were signs of neglect 

Which were very soon righted; 
She stood pale and correct. 

Hundreds went to inspect 

Her, and left her, delighted. 
As I well recollect. 

She was marble! unflecked 

From her heels to her white head; 
She stood pale and correct. 
As I well recollect. 

125 



at tijc Siflii of Hje (ffiingci; ^ai 



% oBamc of €cnntjEf 



The court is rolled, the net is set. 

Two players bold are ready. 
While Chloe chafFs across the net 

And laughs, "Love all, be steady!" 
Love all, indeed! with Chloe near 

What need for more to think of? 
I 've sipped some loving cups, but here 

There's only one to drink of. 

♦'My serve!" she cries; the game begins; 

I 've missed! My eyes betray me. 
And yet 'tis through her eyes she wins; 

I knew she would outplay me. 
But ''Fifteen love!" she now commands — 

What of the first injunction? 
Ah, yes! no doubt she understands 

And has some slight compunction. 

At last the game to " vantage " goes; 

I lay no claim to winning. 
'T is she who sov'reign kindness shows 

And lets me have an inning. 
126 



ilJlagful anti Jljumocous 

By Jove! I win, by one bold stroke. 

Just in the line behind her. 
She sighs, **Love one" — I grasp the joke 

And cry: "Come, help me find her!** 



I^igljt €jjougj)t^ 



To you, O infant of my midnight thought! 
I sing this tender, tense, parental song. 
While to my sleep-deserted chamber throng 

Old memories, nocturnal and unsought. 

What wonder that my mind is overwrought ? 
For, oh! your ceaseless voice is overstrong. 
And my cold-footed pilgrimage is long. 

Come, baby — darn it! Shut up as you ought. 

In fancy I recall those graceless years 

Before your darling mamma made me hers. 
Till in my heart the pulse of sorrow stirs. 

And makes me half inclined to ape your tears. 
Confound it! Sleep! Stop yelling if you can! 
Ah, well, some day you '11 be a married man. 



127 



^t i^t Sbm of ti)e ©inflec fat 



^ttttt^ 



Blonde Charlotte's face is aquiline. 

And Bess has features retrousse; 
One has a smile like summer-shine. 

Through which wee dimples peep and play. 
Her eyes are gems so rare and pure 
They put to blush the Kohinoor; 
Withal, she's such a winsome witch. 
Is — well, no matter who or which! 

When Charlotte dons her gown of gray 

And Bess her jaunty suit of blue. 
The two are fairer than the day 

When June is ripened through and through. 
And one is sweeter than the blooms 
That pout without her curtained rooms; 
They pout, no doubt, because their lot 
Keeps them so far from — tell I '11 not! 

Dear Lot and Bess are young and gay 
And keep my 'wildered wits awhirl; 

I know not how to break away 
From one and court the other girl, 
128 



For each has charms hard to resist 

And each seems fashioned to be kissed. 

At least, 'twere rapture to caress 

That rare coquette — "Which?" You must guess! 



M* ^atricli'^ 2Dap l^aniing 



St. Patrick drove from Ireland 

Its hordes of snakes; but when 
Pat celebrates — egad, the fates 

May bring them back again! 
The snakes of old have long since died. 

No doubt; but wraiths are plenty. 
And still their ghostly shades abide 

In spiriius frumenti! 

So, heed ye, honest gentlemen — 

No word we say in censure; 
But mind a still, small caution when 

You start for gay adventure. 
Be glad, rejoice with heart and voice. 

And native joy will nerve you; 
Be wise and kind — of sober mind — 

And may the saints preserve you. 

129 



at tije Sign of tf)f d^imtx fat 



flt^p Eatip 



My Lady has returned to town 

And brought a sylvan sweetness hither; 
Her cheeks reflect a rustic brown 

That city ways too soon will wither; 
But roses glow beneath the tan — 

The blooms that dazzled us last winter — 
And soon the potent social ban 

To proper pink and white will tint her. 

My Lady has a graceful pace 

That hints of walks in highways rural. 
But soon Dame Fashion will displace 

The stride with mincing intramural. 
The freedom of the woods is gone. 

And in the *♦ season's" flare and fashion 
My Lady, brilliant as the dawn, 

A queen will be for gems to flash on. 

Ah, me! we strolled at the *' resort" 
And talked in accents low and tender; 

But now, of course, I must cavort. 

With arm about her waist, or lend her 
130 



The friendly guidance of my hand 

Throughout the german's weary mazes. 

And trust to luck she '11 understand 

The love that warms my formal phrases. 



%n %utunin Carol 



Oh, our hearts are aglow with contentment 

That impregnates our top-lofty flat. 
Where life has a joyous presentment — 

From the cook to the overfed cat; 
Though lately we shuddered with terror. 

And chills at the heat's long delay. 
The landlord has repented of error. 

And there's heat in the steam-pipes to-day! 

So lift up your voice and be joyous. 

For the north wind is robbed of its bite. 
And the cold draughts that used to annoy us 

Are zephyrs of balmy delight. 
No more will the tremors of freezing 

Our underclad weakness betray; 
Away with chilled ankles and sneezing. 

For there 's heat in the steam-pipes to-day! 



131 



at tf)e Sifln J3f ti)e ©inscc fat 



€l)e 2Dancc 



Dreams of the ball! 

Golden visions of splendor. 

Fair as the rarest fancy inspires; 
Beauty and all 

Wealth and fashion can lend, or 

Youth can bestow, light love's worshipful 
fires. 

Round with the waltz. 
In a glory of pleasure. 

Light-hearted dancers glide gleefully by. 
Till music exalts 

Life's pace to the measure 

And sorrow is lost in a satisfied sigh. 

Music that sings 

In its subtle emotion 

Till the very sphere swings to its rhythmical 
tone. 
And the spirit clings 

To its wings with devotion. 

Lest the song shall depart to its heaven — 
alone! 

132 



^lagful an^ l^umorous 



%lont tDitf) 3Fane 



Jane, in a suit of Cameron plaid. 
Meanders, homeward-bound, with "dad." 
You know how well she looks in that 
Crowned with a jaunty Scotia hat. 
Ah, me ! if I could join the twain. 
Or skip papa, and just with Jane 
Could wander home, I would be glad ; 
But Jane meanders home with "dad." 

Jane dons a dark blue cape and gown. 
And, with her mother, walks to town. 
How proud and soldierly her mien 
When in that martial garb she 's seen ! 
I would not give her mother pain. 
Yet I would like to walk with Jane. 
But if I did, mamma would frown; 
So Jane, with mother, walks to town. 

Jane, in a waist of azure hue. 

Sits there and looks me through and through; 

Her parents are away, I find. 

Thus fortune has at last been kind; 

133 



at tfit Sbmof tf)e mnm fat 

And yet my joy is not complete. 
Though Jane is smiling and petite. 
My feelings I cannot explain — • 
I wish I were n't alone with Jane ! 



^imjjle (iEngli^]^ 



Ofttimes when I put on my gloves, 

I wonder if I 'm sane. 
For when I put the right one on 

The right seems to remain 
To be put on — that is, *t is left; 

Yet if the left I don 
The other one is left, and then 

I have the right one on. 
But still I have the left on right; 

The right one, though, is left 
To go right on the left right hand 

All right if I am deft. 



134 



BALLADES AND RONDEAUS 
2B>ailatie of tfje ^ai^etiiocre 



Ambitious bards with song sublime 
To win eternal fame essay — 

To echo through the deeps of time 
The voice of some grand yesterday. 
Or on man's throbbing heartstrings play 

Love's harmonies unspeakable. 
Alas! I am not framed that way; 

I beat the cymbals — that is all. 

How sweet in slender snares of rhyme 

To trap the tender dreams of May, 
To catch the bluebell's subtle chime 

Of fragrance on the hills astray; 

To mock the wildwood's blithe ballet 
Of blooms and flitting birds that call 

The chorus to spring's roundelay! 
I beat the cymbals — that is all. 



135 



at tfit 5^tgtt of tf)e ©infifc fat 

To be a king of song and climb 
Olympus with a lyre — for aye 

To rise above the toil and grime 
Of life, and from the stars survey 
This peevish world's discordant fray — 

Ah, this were worth a master's scrawl! 
But I the Master must obey; 

I beat the cymbals — that is all. 

ENVOY. 

Friend, in life's changeable array 

Some may be great, some must be small. 

And some be grave, a few be gay — 
I beat the cymbals — that is all. 



136 



i^allatjes antr MontJ^aug 



25allatie of tf^t Comic Sr^uiefe 



Hail! mistress of the merry tongue. 
Of lively wit and laughing moodj 

Gay queen of banter, ever young; 
Withal full of solicitude 
To ease life's worst vicissitude 

By some sage jest or subtle ruse 
Of rhyme to teach us not to brood 

When we may court thee. Comic Muse! 

Since ancient Horace gibed and flung 

His verses at Rome's feet the crude 
Conceits of time, quaint bards have sung 

To make dismay a platitude 

And give a wider latitude 
To joyousness; for who would choose 

The worries of life's endless feud 
When we may court the comic muse? 

No, let us rather lounge among 
Byways obscure, and thus elude 

The striving hordes whose gains are wrung 
From tortured lives and servitude. 

137 



^t tf)t Sbm of tf^t QMnqtx far 

If fate is harsh and times are rude. 
To best resist have naught to lose; 

And why should fortune needs be wooed 
When we may court the comic muse? 

ENVOY. 

Muse, lest ambition should delude. 
Be gracious, nor our suit refuse; 

For mirth shall every ill exclude 

When we may court thee. Comic Muse! 



138 



iSalla^fs anti 3£lonticaus 



25aHatie of <0lti l^abieiBf 



Gone are the old-time wooden fleets. 

And gone beyond our last appeal 
The tars of old, whose daring feats 

Were hampered by no hulls of steel. 

Then war was war on timber keel. 
And when a naval fight began 

Ships clinched and men fought heel to heel - 
No more we battle man to man. 

Ah, those were days of rare conceits 

Of bravery and reckless zeal. 
When frigates flared their mammoth sheets 

Like wings above the woe and weal 

Of strife, and smoke-grimed men could feel 
The jar of meeting hulls, and ran 

With cutlasses defeat to deal — 
No more we battle man to man. 

O'er miles of sea the warship greets 
Its foe to-day with shots that reel 

From armoured decks, and science meets 
With might, to turn grim fortune's wheel 

139 



^t tf}t St'fln of tf)e ©I'ngcr far 

Through distances that half reveal 
Death's fierce, aerial caravan 

And ruin's blackened, sprawling seal- 
No more we battle man to man. 

ENVOY. 

O shade of Jones! could you conceal 
Your grief at such a battle plan. 

Wherein to science heroes kneel? 
No more we battle man to man. 



140 



^allaatB an^ i^ontieaus 



% H^aUntmt 2£>anatie 



Fair, bashful maid without a beau. 

But with a tender heart and hand 
On some fond gallant to bestow — 

Some lucky chap who has the "sand" — 

I think I fully understand 
That trusting little heart of thine; 

So, if you '11 issue the command, 
I '11 gladly be your valentine. 

Or you, O regal beauty ! know 

That long your conquest I have planned. 
If chance my progress has been slow 

My love to fiercer flame is fanned; 

And though the quest be contraband. 
Still must I strive to make you mine. 

So, servant to your least command, 
I'll gladly be your valentine. 

But, most of all, to you I owe 

Allegiance, maid whose wealth of land 
And gold I measured long ago; 

Your stocks and bonds are of a brand 
141 



at tJ)e Stfln of tJje Cfinget far 

That makes my hungry heart expand. 
Until I worship at your shrine. 

Wealth's humble slave — love's deodand. 
I 'II gladly be your valentine. 

ENVOY. 

O fairy of the magic wand ! 

The heart, the grace, the wealth combine 
In one and make her love me, and 

I '11 gladly be your valentine. 



142 



iSallaties anti i^onticauisf 



J^arbe^t %^^lt0 



Out in the orchard, years ago. 

There lived an ancient harvest tree. 
And golden apples used to growr 

To mellow ripeness there for me. 
The tree was low; its drooping limbs 

Hung like an arbor's draperies. 
And green leaves, crooning balmy hymns. 

Lured to its depths of shady ease. 

In May the ancient tree was white 

With tender blooms, and sight and sense 
Drunk deep of promise of delight 

In summer's juicy opulence. 
And as the lolling days grew warm 

The young fruit of seductive green 
Found refuge in my grateful form. 

And worked there, deadly and unseen. 

But all the trials were forgot. 

When, bursting full of lusciousness. 

The golden apples came, with not 
The faintest menace of distress. 

143 



^t tf)c SSm of tf^t ©mflct far 

The hornets thronged their broken parts. 
The bluejays pecked them on the tree; 

But in each apple's heart of hearts 
A *' honey-core " remained for me. 

ENVOY 

Good friend, life's promise oft is white. 
The unripe fruit may cause distress; 

But harvest-time will make it right — 
You'll find a "honey-core," I guess. 



144 



^allatit^ an)} i^ontieauis 



<^n ^untiap a^ojctt 



On Sunday morn, down sacred aisle, 
I see you passing, fair and proud. 
With queenly head sedately bowed. 

And eyes deep-veiled; and can you smile, 

O lady of the dusk defile? 

'Tis wisdom for a little while 

To leave the glitter and the crowd. 
To put aside the Tempter's wile 
On Sunday morn. 

Yet, though you strive to reconcile 
Youth's frolic heart to sober-browed 

Devotion, still you must beguile. 
For Cupid all but laughs aloud. 

About your lips, demure exile. 

On Sunday morn! 



145 



^t tiit S>m of tf)e a^inQti far 



%n %pj^eal 



Dear critics, do not criticise 
Too harshly, for the arrant wise 
May ape the rashness of the fool. 
And, damning by too stern a rule. 
Make rank injustice wear the guise 
Of right. Thus fortune oft denies 
A just reward to him who tries 
With effort greater than you cool. 
Dear critics do. 

It may be that Diana's eyes. 
Young Chloe's cheek and Juliet's sighs 
Are subjects trite, save in the school 
Where love makes youth its pliant tool; 
But be benign and sympathize. 

Dear critics, do! 



146 



ISaUaties ant i^ontreauss 



€ome M0$ flU^e, 2Dear 



Come kiss me, dear — a little play 
Like this improves the brightest day. 
Nay, do not fear! No one will tell. 
Nor miss the kiss you kiss so well. 
'Tis charming, sweet; but run away. 
My little love. Another? Stay! 
I fear you '11 lead me quite astray. 
And yet, for Eve old Adam fell — 
Come kiss me, dear! 

Alas, I am but common clay. 

And victim of a siren's sway! 
Nay, dearest, I do not rebel — 
Your sweet caresses quite excel — 

So I, your doting parent, say: 

**Come kiss me, dear." 



147 



at tf\t Sign of tf^t a^inQtx gfar 



250f)int» tf)e M^tmt^ 



Behind the scenes! What secrets dwell 
Beneath the tinsel and the spell. 
The mimic glory of the stage. 
That thrills the crowd! Othello's rage. 
Insane Lear's mouthings, or the fell 
Complaints of Hamlet, scarce excel 
The tragedies no words may tell; 
The griefs no encores may assuage. 
Behind the scenes! 

There *' properties " lie heaped, pell-mell. 
Whose grcwsome shapes and shadows quell 
The heart of youth, the hopes of age. 
With terrors that no one may gauge. 
Save he who threads the gloomy cell 
Behind the scenes! 



148 



i3aUatre0 axiH Kontieauis 



25e Wi^t in €ime 



Be wise in time, nor seek delay 
When duty shows the rightful way. 
And let both heart and conscience tell 
Where honor calls and what is well; 
For those who shirk the right to-day 
Too soon will find life's aims astray. 
And learn that one small error may 
All peace or happiness dispel — 
Be wise in time! 

Be wise when impulse would betray 
To action that would bring dismay 
Into the life — be brave and quell 
The wayward mood — strive to excel 
In all that virtue might essay — 

Be wise in time! 



149 



at tfie 5ifln of tf)e dRtngec far 



t^itlj ifloti anti ^tt\ 



With rod and reel the toiler plays. 
And dreams of long vacation days 
When he shall float on grassy deeps 
And cast the gleaming lure that sweeps 
Athwart the hungry bass's gaze. 

Once more he scorns the careful phrase. 
The irksome yoke of urban ways. 

And scents the joy the sportsman reaps 
With rod and reel. 

He sees far, forest-girted bays 

Reflect dawn's iridescent grays; 

For there he knows the fierce bass keeps 
A constant vigil- — there it leaps 

And takes the lures the sportsmen raise 

With rod and reel. 



150 



ISallaties mtt i^onTicaus 



l^fjen <&m ^^ #lti 



When one is old one may forget 
The ills that sear the heart and fret 
The soul; old age may reconcile 
Griefs that exalt, joys that defile. 
And loves that leave the eyelids w^et. 

Along life's backward track are set 
Gray crossway signals marked *' Regret," 
At which dim eyes may gaze and smile. 
When one is old ! 

How base will seem the quest we let 
Consume the years ! The minaret 
Of fame's white temple, afterwhile. 
Will crown a lonely burial pile; 
And thus success and dust are met 
When one is old. 



151 



at t^e Sifln of tfte ©mgir fat 



3Pn lifter iearjEf 



In after years, when age has taught 
The heart to shield itself by thought. 
When life's highway seems more secure. 
And idle dreams cease to allure. 
Ah! then perchance the joy we sought 
Will come to us, in vestments wrought 
Of wisdom, patience, peace, and naught 
But blissfulness shall then endure. 

In after years. 

If friends depart; if hopes are brought 
To nothingness; if battles fought 
End in distress, and griefs immure 
The heart and will — then seek the cure 
That time may bring, nor fear you aught 

In after years. 



153 



)3alla))ei3 BLxiti Mon^eaus 



<© tin^t of 3Fune 



O rose of June ! In humble guise 
You meet the idle stroller's eyes 

By pathways sweet with summer's balm 
Of fragrant and florescent calm. 
Pink-tipped and placid moorland prize ! 

At dewy dawn's first blush you rise 
To greet the day's sweet enterprise 
With perfume sacred as a psalm, 

O rose of June ! 

Had I the wisdom of the wise. 

Dear rose, I would immortalize 
You, coral blossom in my palm. 
With song to soothe away the qualm 

Of toil — with roseate melodies, 

O rose of June ! 



153 



at ttje Si'fln of tfit a&inger gjar 



311 Duplicate <!Bame 



A game of whist ? Who could resist 
The challenge bold when you insist ? 
And yet I 'm told that, entre nous. 
You always hold a trick or two 
Unknown to your antagonist. 

I own I am no analyst 
Of maiden's ways, nor grasp the gist 
Of half their plays — thus I may rue 
A game of whist. 

But, like an ardent optimist, 
I '11 give the wheel of chance a twist; 
I '11 play my hand — and would it do 
To try to win your hand from you 
If hearts be trumps ? Do you persist — 

A game of whist ? 



154 



i^allatiesi anti l^ontieaus 



€l^e Social <^tDtm 



The social swim ! You know the rules — 
A race for fortunes, flirts and fools; 

For men who mock and maids who tease. 
And where, at last, the least of these 
May gain the prize and win the pools. 

The game is taught in many schools 
Where fashion finds too willing tools. 
And folly swears that fate decrees 
The social swim. 

Don't cool your heels in vestibules 
And think you 're "in"; the wooden stools 
Of humble hearths, the pipes and cheese 
Of comradeship, will better please; 
Who knows it best most ridicules 

The social swim. 



155 



at ti)c Sign of t^e aStinitx ^at 



€o iou 3P '^v^^ 



To you I turn in time of stress 
And sue, dear love, for that caress 
Whose subtle art doth vanquish care 
And change the gloom of cold despair 
To fragrant bloom and sunniness. 

If fortune brings to me success 
I cannot wholly acquiesce 

Until, with heart as light as air. 
To you I turn. 

Thus, it the Fates despise or bless. 
One prize I knovv^ that I possess 
Which makes all seasons debonair. 
For which all else I would forswear; 
And so, to-day, O heart's Princess, 
To you I turn ! 



156 



^allaUt^ anil Konlieaus 



3Fn Eenten oBarfi 



In Lenten garb — unlovely gray — 
Pale March pursues her mournful way. 
Save that her skies sometimes put by 
Their veiling mists, and sunbeams try 
To paint the promises of May. 

With sober mien and like array 
Doth rosy Katherine essay 
Her lively traits to modify — 

In Lenten garb. 

She docs it well, but smiles will play 
About her dainty lips and stray 
Upward until her eyes belie 
Her saintly guise, and prophesy 
That she — like spring — will not delay 
In Lenten garb. 



157 



at t\)( 5^(fln of tl)f iffilnflfr SJaj; 



ilDljni <II>nc ^lef Jf^oung 



When one is young what matters care ? 

For youth has mirth and joy to spare. 
The future is a blazing fire 
That lights the pathway of desire. 

Anil doing *8 but a name for dare. 

What smiling masks the grim fates wear. 
How amiable and debonair ! 
The best seems easy to acquire 
When one is young. 

Youth is a multimillionaire 
Who iattcns on the best of fare; 

Whom all delights and naught can tire; 

Will) treats the world as his empire. 
But old age sets its fatal snare 

When one is young. 



158 



iSallatjes anti Monteaug 



€IJe Mu^f^ anb Wf^itl 



The rush and whirl of urban ways 
Too often rack the nerves and daze 

The brain with ceaseless change and din; 

Too often kill ere hope can win 
Ambition's prize of pelf or praise. 

And yet we chafe at small delays. 
And fiercely dash through workful days. 
To be, at last, extinguished in , 
The rush and whirl. 

For me a rustic hearth and blaze. 
My pipe, my dog, a book of lays. 

And love, to soothe a chance chagrin. 
And I will be Contentment's twin. 
And jeer with mirthful laugh and phrase 
The rush and whirl I 



159 



iat ll)f .^(flu 01 (l)r iy;(nQfi :?ini 



'Co ^^alic ^nc .^oug 



To iiiiihc one song whose simple strain 
Shall soothe the shiI heart's secret pain. 
Anil leave a balm of gladness where 
Hail liirkcil the poison of despair; 
Ah ! who would not for that refrain 
Give over glory's fair domain, 
And all the greedy gold of gain ? 
ll' this its gift, who would forbear 
To make one song ? 

To make one song the wearied brtin 
Shall welcome and shall aye retain 
As something ever sweet and lair 
To still the deadly throb of care ! 
What liighcr meed could worth attain- 
To make one song ? 



i6o 



^allatitfi anli l^ontjeaug 



€f^c 25ac!ttxjart> Xooft 



Back through the years, still unresigncd. 
We seek for joys long left behind 

Unwittingly; we cry aloud 

And call the one lost in the crowd 
Back where the happy pathways wind. 

We look in olden nooks entwined 
By autumn's fading vines to find 

A loved one's face — we see a shroud. 
Back through the years. 

Pursuing Life's unending grind. 

We've worked, we've wept, we've loved, we've 
dined; 
We've fought, and many times been cowed; 
We 've broken half the oaths we vowed — 
Yet still we search with eager mind 

Back through the years. 



i6i 



at tf^t Sign of tf)e OErmflW Sat 



^ <B»ooti Cigar 



A good cigar, long, brown, and fat. 

Is nothing to be marveled at; 
And yet within its russet shell 
What wonder-working secrets dwell. 

What close-coiled, soothing fancies that. 

Freed in the smoke, life's ills combat 

Successfully, till cares that sat 

Astride the mind are lost in — well, 
A good cigar. 

How soon it prompts a social chat 
When cronies barter tit for tat 

Or tales of strange adventure tell! 

What single blessing can excel 
Grim trouble's blissful burning-ghat — 

A good cigar? 



162 



SONNETS 



Come, Sleep, thou languid, lovely child of night. 

Deep-eyed and luring in thy tenderness! 

Come, close the tired eyes with soft caress 
And woo the mind to dreams of still delight! 
But yesterday I saw you kiss the white. 

Drawn features of a woman in distress; 

And then she smiled, forgetful of duress. 
It seemed, and drifting to joy's cloudless height. 

And this thy gift, O drowsy god of dusk! 
To for a space make sensate things a dream 
Forgot; to give the fancy form and keep 

The soul in visions, making life a husk 

Too mean for use; to bring a sacred gleam 
Of heaven into care's domain, O Sleep! 



163 



at tlje SbiQn of tf)t ©iuflct 3Jac 



51lt Cigl^tp icarjBf 



At eighty years the sun of life hangs low. 

An even-song croons slowly in the heart; 

No more the footsteps seek the noisy mart; 
No more the brave arm strikes an ardent blow 
In sturdy toil, but in the afterglow 

Of time and chance Old Age, serene, apart 

From all ambition's crucifying art. 
Waits, dreaming, for the dawn across the snow. 
At eighty years! What mysteries of strife 

And strength, of service done, those years enfold; 
Of unbelief made faith, of joy and tears. 
Desires wrecked, or wrought to crown the life! 

At last the calm; a loved one's hand to hold — 
Then death to hallow all, at eighty years. 



164 



i6onnct» 



% €m3Bft ^ Heep 



A trust I keep, which time may not efface — 
To delve deep into life in search of gold 
Of purest heart, and virtues manifold. 

And through the unrelenting years to trace 

The vein of truth and find the hiding-place 
Of love's pure gem; to break away the cold 
And skeptic crust obscuring faith; to mold 

Of common clay a form of noble grace ! 

Behold, my hands are weak, my sight unsure. 
And as I strive the task grows doubly great. 
The treasure found unlusterful and small; 
Yet he who gains the prize must all endure; 
Must labor unremittingly, and wait — 

With thankful heart that he may strive at all! 



165 



^t tf^t Sifln of tf)f as^mi^t far 



3Facfe f ro^t 



Ho! ancient friend and honest peddler. Jack, 
With ruddy face and beard of snowy cast. 
What cheerful ventures since we saw you last? 

What trinkets nestle in that bulging pack? 

Good sooth! We're glad to see you tripping back. 
Although your gay lips blow a wintry blast. 
Most cheering rogue and quaint enthusiast! 

Come, have you brought a New Year's almanac? 

Expose your wares; I see some tonics there 

To paint the cheeks of youth and age with rose; 

Some tinsel of the mist, as light as air. 

And curtains woven of translucent snows — 

But stay, good friend; I '11 take that lively scene 

Of boys snowballing on the village green! 



166 



Sonnetjs 



Slabor 



Come to me, comrade dear, physician, friend 
With face austere, and hands that show the seal 
Of hardy toil, and shoulders wont to feel 

The honest burdens' weight; with balms that mend 

The miseries of life — its wounds — and lend 
The blessings of forgetfulness to heal 
The maladies of heart and brain, and steal 

From grief its sting and joy its bitter end. 

When first we met I spurned the yoke you brought. 
And looked upon you as a tyrant sent 
To crush me with an unjust punishment; 
But now your yoke protects me like a shield, 
O Labor! and your blessings are revealed 
As rarer than the stone the ancients sought. 



167 



at tf)e Sbm of tf)e ©inget gfat 



€o tjje fir^t ^ohin 



robin, sing your first spring song to me! 
Since autumn trailed her scarlet robes in dust. 
And in her hapless passion, burned with rust 

The ripened fields, I 've looked in every tree. 
In every bush that plumes above the lea. 

For you, dear friend with umber-tinted bust! 

And through the frigid months, with cheerful trust 

1 *ve waited for your vernal jubilee. 

Till now, at last, where yet the snowy foam 
Of winter tempests flecks the chastened lawn, 
I see you standing, triumph-voiced and strong. 
With keen bill prodding in the grassy loam! — 
Sweet songster with the breast like russet dawn. 
Mount yonder tree and carol me a song! 



i68 



S^onmt^ 



€al\wpt 



Chief of the Muses — great Calliope ! 
Where is thy idle stylus hid to-day — 
That rod, whose grand, immortalizing sway 

Held Homer's hand in trust as honor's fee? 

And has thy tuba lost its ancient free 

And ample eloquence? Forsooth! the bray 
Of modern orators is puppet play — 

The loon's call hooting by life's raging sea! 

And yet, I heard a locomotive roar 

Across the almost boundless plain; its voice 
Spake with prophetic power, thus: "Rejoice! 

I carry progress to the farthest shore." 
Perchance thy epic staves and eloquence 
Thus mask in modern processes immense. 



169 



at tf)e Bm of tf)c ©inger far 



<$rato 

Dear muse, the sweetest of the potent nine. 
Whose fingers play upon the hearts of men 
Until their ardent chords respond again. 

Thrilling with love-lorn melody divine, 

Methinks I hear a tender note of thine 

Drift from the falling autumn leaves, and when 
The woodbine bares its scarlet face — ah ! then 

I know that love has mocked the summer shine. 

Each chaliced blossom is a votive shrine 

Where nature spreads her fairest gifts for thee; 
Each dewy blade that sparkles on the lea 

A sacred reliquary crystalline 

That holds the secret of thy tender spell. 
And makes us love thee and thy numbers well. 



170 



Sonnets 



^ttp^it^utt 



The dancing muse! I saw her moving through 
A forest, where an autumn zephyr played; 
Her steps were lighter than the leaves that strayed 

Like waifs of summer, lost where twilight drew 

A shadow-net about them, and the blue 

Of heaven twinkled where high branches made 
A shifting masquerade of sheen and shade 

That mocked the rhythm of a faint tattoo. 

And as I watched the airy muse advance, 
A wreath of laurel on her tresses set. 
Like emeralds in a golden coronet, 

Methought the wildwood joined her in the dance. 
And every leaf and bird and living thing 
Burst forth in songs of reawakened spring. 



171 



^t tf)e 5(fln of t\)t ©tngec gjat 



Cutfrjje 



Muse of the mystic flute and purling stream. 
In nature's fairest summer garlands drest, 
I saw a wild bird resting on thy breast — 

A wan dove, crooning in a midday dream; 

So strangely sweet the song, I knew its theme 
Was mother-love within a downy nest; 
And then I knew it mocked the tenderest 

Of all thy golden bursts of song supreme. 

I saw two lordly stags in deathful fight; 
The rasp of clashing antlers, and the cries 
Of rage for conquest shuddered to the skies — 

A grand, primeval anthem voicing Might; 

And then, O muse! I bowed before thy power 
That speaks the tempest or the lisping flower. 



172 



Sonnets 



el^ 



€{)altd 



Since first you crowned the rustic's vernal feast, 
O muse! with laughter and your comic art. 
And in the rural pastimes bore your part 

With broadest jest and mirth that aye increased. 

Your sway has traveled from the classic East 
To banter care and fill the throbbing mart 
Of tragic life with whims and quirks that start 

The pulse to thrill with joy where joy had ceased. 

Behold! To-day your crook and grinning mask 
Are greeted as if royal tokens sent 
To end the sordid soul's imprisonment 

And gild with wit the plodder's weary task; 

To make despair the laggard's scourge, at most. 
And fortune's fiercest fling a futile boast. 



173 



at tfit Sbm of tfit (Sringft far 



Clio 

Hail, goddess! Queen of time's renowned estate. 
On whose fair brow the deathless laurel shines. 
And for whose smile the proudest mortal pines 

With ardor ceaseless and insatiate. 

When Caesar dared the sorcery of fate 

And outlined with his sword the world's confines 
He worshiped at thy glory-gilded shrines — 

Grand relics, then, of ages old and great. 

Ah! could the memoirs thy papyrus scrolls 
Retain be stamped upon the souls of men. 
Perhaps thy smile were not so witching then, 

And few would perish in ambition's shoals. 
But now thy trumpet sounds a glad refrain. 
And man, for love of thee, forgets his pain ! 



174 



Sonnets 



25roften 2E>onti!8f 



Released ! released ! Yes, broken is the chain 
Which held the slavish heart in such duress 
That all but love seemed less than nothingness. 

And hell lurked in a woman's least disdain. 
And heaven linked itself with her caress! 

An end, at last, to vows that plight in vain 

And make a mockery of love to gain 
Pride's pitiable fee — or something less! 
An end to explanations which confess 

The meagerness of human trust, and drain 

The very founts of confidence — and pain! 
An end to joys and tortures none can guess 

Save he who struggles for love's sunlit height 

And gains, instead, scorn's stormy crags and night! 



175 



at tf}t Sbm of tije aHuxQa 'Mt 



€Ije flr^a^ft of ^ixtfy 



Ho! this is Mirth, fat-cheeked and laughing-eyed. 

And wide of mouth where impish dimples lurk 

In playful negligence — content to shirk 
The earnestness and sober sense of pride. 
And prank about gay lips that oft divide 

In grins that ripple with content and smirk 

Of perfect joy or sly, satiric quirk 
That smacks of roguishness personified. 
And is this not the best — to make a jest 

Of life and sweep the veil of sorrow by; 

To steep the soul in mirthful carelessness. 
And turn unheeding ears to care's behest. 

Ambition's strident call or sweet love's sigh? 

Ah, Mirth, a truce; that grin may mask distress! 



176 



Stinne(0 



H^ootilanb ^Pune 



Yes, June is quite an idle elf, I think. 
Companion of Dan Cupid and the rest 
Of wayward fays who make a merry jest 
Of pain, and fan their wings upon the brink 
Of woodland stream and pool, where shy nymphs 
drink 
And bathe at dusk, then romp away in quest 
Of fireflies that blink in mute protest 
Their dingy lights, 'twixt earth and sky, or sink 
To refuge where the long grass intertwines 
Above its carpeting of russet moss. 

June loves these scenes of sylvan shade, and so. 
With pink limbs stretched in languidness, reclines 
On some proud fern that, swaying, leans across 
A twinkling brook where Pan is piping low. 



177 



at tl)e 5ifln of tf)t Q^in^n far 



i^tttibtt 



The pippins swinging on the bending boughs. 

Like rosy children, nod among the leaves; 

While in the tree's shorn top a robin grieves 
And croons faint echoes of his springtime vows. 
From far afield the home-returning cows 

Moo low as lost in strange soliloquies. 

The dry grass murmurs like far-distant seas. 
The hillside masquerades its purple brows 
In brilliant foliage, whose sunset hues 

Recall the blossoms of departed June. 

Upon the cottage porch, where Summer twined 
Her garlands, and now whispers her adieux, 

A red-cheeked maiden hums a mellow tune. 
Her gold hair tossing in the autumn wind. 



178 



NATURE 



When roses bloom in wayside nooks 
And summer dreams where drowsy brooks 
Blink lazily in shifting shade 
Of listless leaves; when ripples wade 
Through glossy waves of streamside grass 
With languid sighs, and zephyrs pass 
Like phantom songs through dusky woods. 
Filling the perfumed solitudes 
With deep, entrancing restfulness — 
Then would we flee the toil and stress 
Of labor days to seek the ease 
And midday twilight of the trees. 

In dreamful nooks when roses bloom 
And locusts ravel from the gloom 
Of maple tops an aimless chime, 
Outfloating like a wisp of time 



179 



at ti)e Sifltt of t!)e dSmflpr far 

Clipped from the distaff of the Fates 
And loosed to drift to chance estates — 
Then, sailing with this strand of song. 
The fancy wanders where a throng 
Of restful visions, calm and pure. 
To scenes of perfect peace allure. 
And care becomes a minor chord 
That thrills a hymn to nature's Lord! 

When roses bloom and summer smiles 

From all her fragrant, flowered miles 

Seductively, and so invites 

To her still, sensuous delights 

Half hid in gauzy draperies 

Of shade and sheen in lisping seas 

Of green, dim woods; when from a zone 

Of blossom gold a monotone 

Ripe with content flows like a psalm 

Of joy serene, a holy calm 

Laves thought and soul in sacred rest. 

And sorrow sleeps on nature's breast. 

In dreamland nooks, O friend! regain 
The joy of life — forget the vain 
And fierce pursuit of sordid things 
And all the mad world's buffetings. 
When roses bloom the gilded bee 
Reigns in a flower throne, and she 
180 



iEatute 

Hums blithely songs of bloom and shine 
And sips of sacramental wine 
No rarer than who wills may sip 
With thirsty heart and thankful lip 
Within the shadow-arbored ways 
Of restful, ripe midsummer days. 



]Kontiei 



Scarlet and gold the leaves are turning. 

And gray are the days, for the year is old. 
And chill is the heart, for the ways are cold. 

While the year lies low with its death-lights burning. 

Chill as the snow, the north wind spurning. 
Shudders the dusk when the dawns unfold; 

Scarlet and gold the leaves are turning. 
And gray are the days, for the year is old. 

And the wildwood sings with a voice of mourning. 
And the wood-bird wings to a new freehold; 
And a dream of the June, like a tale new-told, 

Dimmeth the eyes with a mist of yearning. 

Scarlet and gold the leaves are turning. 
And gray are the days, for the year is old. 
i8i 



at ti)e Sbm of t|)P ©iuflcc 3lat 



^ong of tl&c €l)t^tletirxft 



Gay is my heart as 

The blooms in the June light- 
Sailing apart as 

Light as a fairy. 
Dancing and merry; 

Bright as an airy 

Sprite of the moonlight; 
Just a contrary 

Waif of the noonlight. 

Over the treetops 

I drift in an aimless 
Course where I see tops 

Gold as the sun is — 
Red as a flame is. 

Or a stray one is 

Tinged with a nameless 
Hue; and my game is 

Idle and blameless. 



182 



iaatute 

Still, though I wander. 

With nothing to hold me. 
Hither and yonder, 

A prize I carry — 
Fair Nature's dower — 

And may not tarry 

Till earth shall enfold me. 
And into a flower 

Beautiful mold me. 



€l)c %n^t 25utterflp 



Like some rare flower endowed 

With conscious freedom, vying 

With the wind, I see thee flying 
Above the crowd, 

O strayed exotic of the wilderness! 

In this long hour of thy distress. 
Confined between the lofty towers 

Of noisy trade. 
Seeking the green and bloom of bowers 

From whence thou 'st strayed, 
Thy frail wings grow dull. 

Lost butterfly. 

183 



at t^e Sign of tf)t (&inqtt far 

Their movements lull. 

And then I see thee rise 
Above the gibbering street. 
As if thou wouldst retreat 

To the sweet immortal skies. 
But thy broken sails are weak. 
Nor mav they help thee seek 

Thy lost paradise. 
Thy sad hour shalt thou fight 
In vain, despairing flight. 

Then fall and die. * * * 
Blooms on the world of fragrant things. 
And in the grass the cricket sings! 

So man, frail man, shall struggle upward, too. 
Longing to scan some soul-remembered view. 
And then shall fall and die at last, like you. 
But far afield, perhaps, his spirit hears 
The welcome music of immortal years. 



184 



i^atuu 



W^m t^t CotDjET Come l^ome 



"Clink, clink, clink-clink, a-clinkety-clink " — 

Through the ragged brush of the pasture path. 
And the "old boss" stops at the brook to drink. 

And tosses her head with a jest of wrath. 
With hoofs sunk deep in the brook's black loam. 

And muzzle deep in the lazy stream. 
She waits for the laggard herd to come. 

With ears that droop and eyes that dream. 
Her sleek sides bulge with contentedness. 

And her udders drip with an overflow 
That blotches with white the water cress 

That sags with the current, to and fro. 

The eddies whirl where her long tail flings 

Its tufted end with a listless toss. 
And the gurgling water swings and sings 

Like whirling wings in the brookside moss. 
As the water clears of its muddy rile 

And the old boss drinks, with nostrils flared. 
The dusk, slow stealing, mile on mile. 

Grows dark where the deep woods stand ensnared 

185 



at tte Sffln of ifit ©infl^t fat 

On the east horizon's farthest rim. 

And out of the twilight's hazy height. 

Where the Dog Star loiters, white and dim, 
A drifting swallow pipes good-night. 

Then, drowsily, with a soul-deep breath. 

The old boss raises her head and sighs. 
And bright as a sword from its guarding sheath. 

The sunset gleams in her glowing eyes. 
It turns the bell at her throat to gold 

And silvers the red of her silken coat. 
And the telltale leaves of the year grown old 

Turn pale in the pools where they lie afloat. 
Out of the silence, shrill and high, 

A voice of the farm-yard quavers through: 
"Come, boss! Come, boss! Come, boss!" its cry. 

And the old boss softly answers, *'Moo! " 

Only the call of the cow — that's all; 

Only a wistful moo, and yet 
It seems that I heard my childhood call — 

And the dusk is here and my eyes are wet. 



186 



iaature 



Cfjant of tlje ^}jmg Ham 



Rain like the rustling of fine garments — 
Luminous, whispering rain; 
Voice of the Spring, sibilant and frail. 
Rain like the fluttering of wings — 
The glad sigh of Nature awakened. 
Rain with the song of waving corn 
And the murmur of blossoming trees; 
Voice of the meadow-lands a-tremble; 
Voice of the rushes quivering; 
Voice of God to the hosts of Life. 

Rain with the sob of the wandering stream. 

Telling the tale of the great gray seas. 

Rain of the tempest spent and joy to come — 

The baptism of regeneration 

From the fountain of youth perennial; 

Pitiful, quickening tears of the Most High! 

Rain that speaks to my heart. 
Speaks with the voice of my dear love 
And whispers: *' Peace, peace; 
For above the clouds the sunshine 
And after the rain the radiance; 
And this is life and its mystery!" 
1S7 



^t tf^t Sbm of tf^t dMnQtx 3>at 



3^n tl)e f atiing fear 



The goldenrod is nodding to the asters by the road. 
Out across the sandy reaches where the grass is 
flaming up 
Into orange-yellow torches, flaring autumn's signal code. 
Still the milkweed pours its treasure from an over- 
flowing cup. 

The jewel-blossomed gentian hides in the willow brake. 
And the dial-faced sunflowers, turning ever toward 
the sun. 
Beam in slowly fading splendor, seeming sadly loth 
to make 
Their adieus and bend their slender stalks in part- 
ing benison. 

The elms are growing weary with the waning of the 
year. 
While their leaves, like tears of sorrow, drop reluc- 
tantly to earth. 
And their haggard branches totter, looming somber 
and severe 
As they moan of joys departed and of winter's 
cold and dearth. 

i88 



iEature 

In the oaks the squirrels worry, up among the bur- 
nished leaves. 
Which hang stiff like ancient parchments soiled by 
summer's careless hands. 
And a warble trembles through them as a bird belated 
grieves 
While it pauses in its lonesome pilgrimage to warmer 
lands. 

Listen ! don't you hear the patter of the dry leaves 

as they pass ? 
Hear them treading where the maple spreads its mantle 

on the grass ? 
All the early year and onward I beheld them grow 

and glow. 
Each with its peculiar beauty shining in the vernal 

show. 

Faded all, they fall to nourish blossoms of a fairer 

day; 
Thus again their worth shall flourish into beauty by 

the way. 
So again, oh friend ! shall prosper every fair and 

noble deed. 
Making lives leaf out in kindness as the fruitful days 

proceed. 



189 



at tt)e 5ifin of t\)t (ffiinfl« ^ar 



%t Mnm 



The robin warbles in the dusk. 

The sunset strews its fading fire. 
And like the kernel in the husk 

Rests in my heart a ripe desire; 
The secret of the songster's strain. 

The magic of the embered west — 
Ah, could I name the sweet bird's pain 

And know whereof the sun's unrest! 

The robin's mate in silence waits 

The coming of the fledgling brood 
And night at heaven's flaming gates 

Sits through the twilight interlude; 
But over all a mist of tears 

Intangible, the majesty 
Of mighty grief through countless years. 

Seems cast, and chills the soul of me. 

Moan in the dusk, O gentle bird! 

The sorrows of the world arise. 
And ev'ry trembling leaf is stirred 

With nature's sympathetic sighs; 
190 



Mature 

Day bares its stricken heart, and bleeds; 

Night, with a nameless sorrow weak. 
Droops like a widow in new weeds. 

And death breathes coldly on her cheek. 

Still in my heart the will to know 

Rests like the kernel in the husk; 
How shall it germinate and grow 

To rise above life's troubled dusk? 
Immortal One, teach me the way. 

Give me the skill! Give me the skill 
To read the wondrous night and day 

And know the glories of Thy will. 



191 



at tf)t ^iQn of t^e ©inget fat 



<6a|i ^jjring iHcturiijef 



Gay Spring returns, her glad face glowing 
With the winsome smile of a year ago. 
And again in accents sweet and low 

She murmurs of wilds where her blooms are growing. 

She rustles the folds of her garments, showing 
A splendor of draperies new; and so 

Gay Spring returns, her glad face glowing 
With the winsome smile of a year ago. 

In her hand is a lilac bough o'erflowing 
With billows of odorous bloom; but, oh! 
Its green leaves lisp with a sense of woe. 
For flowers must fade and Spring be going — 
Gay Spring returns, her glad face glowing. 



192 



iaatuw 



Jjjjrmg €ome^ ^l^Canhtgi 



Spring knocks at the door of the year and cries: 
*'I want to come in! I 've a song for you; 
I 've a kirtle green and a bonnet blue. 

And jewels of dew to dazzle your eyes. 

*'l know where the first shy violet lies 

In its cradle of moss — and the May bloom, too! 

I've a basket full of the flowers you prize. 

And fresh as the dawn when the world was new. 

*'I 've a charm that dropped from the autumn skies 
Of the year agone, and with magic true 
'T will gild the fields where the gold wheat grew. 
And make you happy and wealthy and wise! " 
Spring knocks at the door of the year and cries: 
"I want to come in! I 've a song for you!'* 



193 



^t tJ)e Sbm of tije BinQtx §ax 



€!>e J>pring f eber 



There 's a witchery to the winds that shiver so 
In against the leafless bushes and the snow. 

And each gusty spirit-wing 

Of the breezes seems to sing 
Of the coming of the spring, spring, SPRING! 

Now the bronze buds of the willows swell and glow, 
And the silver-throated birches whisper low 

That the violets that quake 

Half asleep beside the brake 
Soon will blossom wide awake, wide awake! 

Hear the early bluebird pipe his morning lay! 
He 's a uniformed young captain of the day; 

He 's a soldier without fear. 

Heralding the bloom and cheer 
Of the spring and all the fruitage of the year. 

Hurry, winter, we beseech you, haste away ! 
For we long to see the clover-bloom at play 

With the teasing tousled bees. 

And we long to lounge at ease 
Underneath the sleepy-headed summer trees. 

194 



BITS OF CHILDHOOD 



Dear little blue-eyes, go to sleep ! 

The twilight shadows are knee-deep; 
The sun gone down behind the town. 
And from the hilltop's silver crown 

A faint, far day-star seems to peep. 

The green lawn twinkles bright with dew. 
The treetops whisper low to you: 

"Sleep, little one; the day is done; 

Sleep till the rising of the sun ! " 
Sleep, love, and close your eyes of blue. 



195 



at tl)t Si'an of tfie OBfinfler §ax 



Winttt 25utterflie^ 



The snowflakes flutter all around. 
Or drop to rest upon the ground. 
And if you see them with my eyes 
You '11 know they are white butterflies 
That float from sunny fields above 
To visit boys and girls they love. 



fairp €a^t!e^ 



Upon my window-pane at night 
Come fairy pictures, painted white. 
And when I get up with the sun 
The shining paintings are all done. 
I see a marble castle there. 
And to it leads a silver stair. 
And at the stairway's top I see 
Somebody beckoning to me. 



196 



ISits of arf)iltf)ooti 



J>leep ^ong of !3l^oti)er()oot> 



Little one — little one — child of my breast. 
First-born of thy father, drowse to thy rest. 
Over the trail of the rose-tinted west 
Steals the red sun to its under-world nest. 
Warm on my heart is the pulse of thy love; 
Soft on my cheek is the breathing thereof — 
Tight must I hold thee till dawning of day. 
Else the Night Watcher might bear thee away. 

Little one, sleep, or the night will repine 

While the Dream Singers wait for this wee one of 

mine. 
E'en now a low lullaby calls from the shade. 
And bids thee, my precious one, be not afraid. 
Hush! — list to the song of the stars as they cling 
In the arms of the night where they drowsily swing 
And twinkle their love to thee now, as I sing 
My crooning sleep song to thee, rapturous Thing! 



197 



^t tije Siflu of tf)f dMuQet far 



€f)e f ir^t icar 



The year is nearly gone, my child. 

Your only year, or rather. 
Four months have passed since first you smiled 

Upon your blushing father. 
The nurse scoffs at my unctuous claim 

That you in infant frolic 
Grinned at your dad; she vows that same 

Grin meant a touch of colic. 

When babes are new, so I am told. 

Life bores them out of measure; 
I know some "babies" gray and old 

Who don't find life all pleasure. 
You were a solemn little chap 

When we became acquainted; 
I dubbed you saint and watched you nap — 

You 're not as fair as painted. 

What lonely nights we walked the floor! 

'T was I did all the walking. 
And how you bawled! and how I swore — 

And set the neighbors talking! 
198 



No doubt your voice will ring, some day. 

Full eloquent and pure; 
But don't be so ambitious, pray. 

While yet so immature. 

Still, darling infant, you are fair. 

Though ofttimes passing doleful; 
You look a cherub lying there. 

With eyes so big and soulful. 
If chance we spank your nether parts 

And often seem to flout you — 
Why, brightest jewel of our hearts. 

We couldn't do without you! 



Mat €tath^ 



Alone in bed at night I lie 
And watch the stars that dot the sky; 
They are so yellow and so bright 
I call them daisies of the night. 

When day returns I step abroad 
To view the wondrous works of God, 
And yellow daisies, as I pass. 
Shine out like stars upon the grass. 
199 



at t^t Sign of if)t ©inset ^ai 



€{je €op ^oltiier*^ Balentine 



It was Valentine day and the toy folk were gay; 

But the little toy soldier was blue as could be. 
For his heart was of lead, and he stood on his head 

In a crack of the nursery floor, you see! 
He had fallen that way, and in love, too, they say. 
When the yellow-haired baby had asked him to play; 
And from that day to this he had longed for the bliss 
Of a kiss from that dimpled and rosy young miss. 

But who ever heard of a dear little bird 

Of a baby a-kissing toy soldiers — did you? 
So the rubber doll laughed and the Noah's ark chaffed. 

And the calico kitten said ** Me-ow-oo'!" 
And they all of them ran to the toy-soldier man 
And said: ♦• Run away with the girl if you can! " 
Now, this is too bad, for the toy soldier had 
Lost both his legs in a battle — poor lad ! 

But the big, golden Sun, he had seen all the fun 
That was made of the little toy soldier, and he 

Just made up his mind that the others should find — 
Well, something, I think you '11 agree; 

200 



IS Its of art) iitifioo^ 

For he sent a sunbeam with a dazzling gleam 

To glow on the little toy soldier, full stream. 

Till the dear fellow shone with a brightness, I'll own. 

As glowing as any that ever was known. 

And then, pretty soon, I should say, about noon. 
The yellow-haired baby appeared in the door; 
And standing right there, first thing, I declare! 
She saw the toy soldier ashine on the floor. 
Then what do you think? As quick as a wink. 
She caught the toy soldier and kissed him, ker-plink! 
So without more ado the frolicksome two 
Ran away with each other. I'm glad, aren't you? 



201 



m tfit Sign of tf}t ©infler far 



W\^m a^arp ^ingjef 



When Mary sings it seems a faint. 
Fond echo of some far bird's plaint. 
Some song of love and past delight 
From twilight grove or azure height 
Comes dreamily in drifting flight 
To mc, and brings, on drowsy wings. 
Spring's luring, lulling murmurings. 

Despite the wind-worn winter's night. 
When Mary sings. 

When Mary sings, to-night, her quaint 
Child music croons, in sweet restraint. 

Soft slumber tunes, whose tones unite 

The mother's runes with ditties, light 

As infant fancies can incite. 
Before the blaze she sways and swings 
Her cradled dolls, and round her clings 

The glory of a sacred rite. 

When Mary sings. 



202 



mt» of arf)ii^f)ooti 



€lje i^ur^erp ^age 



I know a quaint philosopher 

Who muses all day long. 
Whose earnest utterances are 

Exceeding plain and strong. 
He seems assured that midnight is 

The season to expound. 
And then — the fact I must admit! - 

His arguments are sound. 

This wee Philosopher ignores 

The <' question of the hour," 
Except that of hygienic food. 

Which same he doth devour. 
He hath a scientific turn 

Of mind, I 'm free to say — 
A simple astronomic taste: 

He loves the Milky Way. 

Although he hath abundant health, 

A nurse is always near 
To minister to each small need 

Of this Philosopher. 
203 



at ti)t S>m of t^e (SJinger far 

He seems to long to walk abroad. 

And often he begins. 
But heavens! you should hear him howl 

When he gets on his pins! 

This young Philosopher I know 

Is from a foreign land. 
And speaks a language that I fain 

Would speak or understarid. 
My clever wife, however, can 

Translate his *♦ Googly-goo!" 
And vows it means ** mamma," of course. 

Just as all mothers do! 

I lay no claim to learning great. 

And yet my heart insists 
That when my infant son gets red 

And doubles up his fists. 
And googles to articulate 

A name, the boy is mad 
Because he cannot quite command 

That fond expression — DAD! 



204 



iSits of or^ilti^ootJ 



4Boing ^HtDap 



Oh, Josephine Gray, are you going away? 

Then I know why the flowers are fading; 
Why the leaves of the trees die so, and the seas 

Of dry grasses are ever upbraiding; 
Why the sad monotone of the air is a moan 

Like the groan of a lone child sobbing; 
Why the song of the bird of gay spring is unheard. 

And my temples with trouble are throbbing. 

In the bloom of the year you came to me, dear. 

With the glory of summer about you; 
But in gloom the parade of all nature must fade. 

For it cannot have pleasance without you! 
Ah! the chill at my heart, and its storm, is a part 

Of the winter that comes at your leaving, 
And the moan of the air is my echoed despair. 

And the plaint of the grass is my grieving! 

Sweet Josephine Gray, little maid, won't you stay? 

For I dote on your prattle and laughter. 
And in it I hark to the song of a lark 

Of a light heart that flutters long after. 

205 



at ti)e Sign of tlje ©mgct iat 

Come, stay! And whatever the weather we '11 never 
See aught but the sunshine you make us 

With the smile of your sweet little face and the wile 
Of a joy that shall never forsake us! 

3llrmp SDiet 



My father says 'at sojcrs is 

The braves' mens 'at ever was; 

'At when they hears the shots go ** Whiz !" 
They don't mind it a bit, bekuz 

The whiz means 'at you ain't got hit. 

An' so they 'ist don't keer a bit. 

Pa says 'at sojers knows a lot. 

An' they can walk **'ist like one man." 
An' aim so well 'at every shot 

Will hit a sneakin' Spaniard, an' 
He says they have to eat "hard tacks " 
An' carry "raccoons" on their backs. 

But when I ast him why they do 
He 'ist busts out a-laughin', nen 

He says, ** You know a thing or two. 
My son!" an' laughs an' laughs again. 

An' says "'At's 'ist the very thing — 

The sojers eats the tax, 'I jing !" 
206 



mts of €t)iltjJ)ooti 



% l^etd H^oman 



Spring blossoms with a world of eyes. 

My wee girl has but two; 
But oh! a world of beauty lies 

Within those eyes of blue. 

The high hills hold vast hoards of gold. 

Both beautiful and rare; 
But oh! it gleams in wealth untold 

Within my darling's hair. 

The downy peach is pink and sleek. 
And sweet as ancient wine; 

But sweeter is my darling's cheek 
When pressing close to mine. 

She toddles to her papa's knee. 

Across the flowered floor. 
And each bare footstep seems to me 

To leave one blossom more. 

207 



at tf)t SiiQn of tfit (Sfiitger fat 

Diana's silver sickle shows 

Upon the jeweled sky. 
And underneath the long grass glows 

A twinkling firefly. 

Fair day has gone to rest, my dear. 
She just put out her light. 

And as you nestle close, I hear 
A drowsy, faint " Dood night! " 



208 



JxJi 



OCT 12 1901 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 



iiiiilliiiiimillilili' ^ 

393 251 2 m 



018 




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